Out There
by smuffly
Summary: Adam's world is falling apart - but who is to blame? This story is set in Season 6. Told from Adam's point of view, but featuring the whole team.
1. Chapter 1

**OUT THERE**

**Author's Note: This story is set during the early part of season 6, immediately after episode 3 ("Lat 40˚47'N/Long 73˚58'W").**

**Disclaimer: CSI NY does not belong to me. And neither does Adam Ross. Sad, but true.**

**Thanks: to 1917farmgirl and Lily Moonlight, who always give me such great encouragement and advice!**

**Chapter One**

_**"Three things in human life are important: the first is to be kind; the second is to be kind; and the third is to be kind." (Henry James)**_

The dream was a good one. No doubt about it. There was the evil job-stealing blonde, tied to the railway tracks - and Adam was the only one who could save her. Strands of long hair fanned out around her head like a golden halo as she gazed up at him with those innocent eyes. So deceptive. "Help me," she cried. Her life in his hands...

The herd of rampaging elephants bore down on her...

Wait - elephants? Where was the train?

Adam's eyes flew open. The jolt of his sudden awakening made him shiver. Unexpected noises in the night were seldom friendly.

Listening to the heavy thumping sound that had forced its way into his dream, he frowned as he finally understood the source. For a split second, he cursed his generous nature and the simple promise that he had made in the kind light of day. "I'm coming," he mumbled reluctantly. Bed was nice; the apartment was cold - and his head was unbearably heavy. Peeking sideways at the clock on his nightstand, he realised why.

1:15 am. Which meant that he had been asleep for little more than an hour. Stumbling into his midnight-black apartment after a long shift, he had veered away from the kitchen in spite of his empty stomach, and dropped straight onto his bed, fully clothed, pausing only to release his bag and kick his shoes across the room with weary abandon. The moment that his cheek had brushed against the soothing coolness of his pillow, he had been lost.

Huffing with the effort, Adam dragged himself into a sitting position. The room swayed around him and he put out a steadying hand. Exhaustion had made him dizzy - and so, it seemed, had hunger. His stomach was no longer grumbling; it was downright angry. Adam sighed. When would he learn? Hot dogs may well be delicious, but their energy content, such as it was, could never be expected to last for - he counted in his head - _eleven_ hours. _Stupid, Adam._ The last shift had been so intense that work had taken over his brain, to the exclusion of all else. A bad habit, and one that he really ought to try and break.

"I'm turning into Mac," he murmured, wrinkling his forehead.

Suddenly, the banging stopped. The silence which replaced it was even more alarming.

Adam pushed all thoughts of food from his mind. Rising to his feet, he padded across the room. One shoe, he rescued from the wastebasket. The other one had made it all the way up to his desk, landing neatly on a pile of notes like a strange kind of paperweight. He grabbed that one too, with a gentle oath. Hopping awkwardly through the apartment, he managed to wriggle into both shoes, one after the other. Then he snagged his keys from the hook where he had somehow remembered to hang them and slipped out through the front door, closing it softly behind him.

The corridor was silent. A weird yet familiar smell pervaded the air; mingled threads of different lives. Sniffing instinctively, Adam broke it down into its separate elements. Curry powder. Stale beer. Furniture polish - _not mine,_ he thought, with a sheepish grin. And cinnamon...

Seeping from his neighbour's apartment, the spicy aroma was almost overpowering. As Adam turned the borrowed key in her lock, he held his breath, preparing himself. Elma Bryce had a fascination with potpourri that bordered on the obsessive. There were worse smells, of course - he could vouch for that, after spending only a short time in autopsy - but still... The door swung open and he was assaulted by the scent, so thick by now that he could have sliced clean through it with one of Sid's scalpels. Counting to three, he released his breath and tried to acclimatise.

"Mrs Bryce?" he called out warily. "Elma..? Are you okay? It's me, Adam. From next door..."

There was no reply; only the warm and fuzzy hum of her heating system, turned up full blast as usual. A niggling doubt crept into his mind. Had he dreamed the whole thing? Was he about to burst in upon her, only to find her sleeping? That would frighten her out of her wits.

He paused.

"Adam?" said a shaky voice.

"Coming," he said, with relief.

Walking across the thick carpet was like treading on marshmallows. The softness, the warmth, the scent - they all closed in around him as he entered her world and left his own version of reality outside the door.

Despite the fact that he had been invited - no, _summoned_ into Elma's private sanctuary, it was an unexpected struggle to ignore the rules of decency and step over the threshold into her bedroom. She was an old lady and she was undoubtedly in her nightgown. He was a young...ish man. Adam's smile was shy as he poked his head around the door and saw her sitting up in bed, clutching at the rim of her quilt with trembling fingers. Beside her, on the floor, lay her walking stick, abandoned. Large brown eyes stared back at him, full of hurt and confusion. That was all it took to dispel his reticence. Before he even knew it, he had reached the bed and was bending down to still her hands with his own. As he did so, he caught a whiff of talcum powder and that little-old-lady smell that always reminded him so sharply of his grandmother.

"It happened again?" he asked her solemnly.

She clutched at him with bony strength; the same strength that had dragged him from his dreams as she thumped on the wall with her stick.

"Yes," she whispered. Peering at his face, she shook her head. "You're tired. I'm so sorry to wake you, Adam. But you said..."

"I did." Adam's voice was resolute. "And you were right to call me. No one should be alone with their nightmares. 'Sides, it's not a problem, okay? I can catch some sleep later. I'm used to long nights. How about some tea? Then you can tell me all about it - if you want to. Or we can talk about something else." His shrug was accompanied by a charming grin, intended to reassure her.

Elma nodded. "Help me up."

He reached for the dressing gown that was draped on a nearby chair. Elma released the quilt and swung her sparrow-legs around stiffly, taking his other arm and using it as a prop. Once she was standing, and wrapped in the fleecy robe, he passed her the stick and moved out of the way. She shuffled towards the door. Already, the shreds of her dream were trailing behind her and her confidence was returning.

She was lonely, Adam realised, and knew that he had been right to come.

The kitchenette was a neater (and cleaner) version of his own space - a chintzy old world tea shop to his urban diner. Elma headed towards the cupboards but Adam shook his head and pulled out a chair. "Your order, ma'am?" he said.

She smiled, delighted by the game. Sitting down at the tiny table, which was hidden by a crisp white cloth, hand-embroidered napkins and a bowl of the ever-present potpourri, she raised her nose in the air and flicked her fingers at him. "Tea. With milk. No - lemon. And take one for yourself, Ross."

"Thank you, ma'am," he replied, with an atrocious attempt at an English accent.

"You sound like a chimney sweep," she told him archly.

He shrugged once more, observing how her cheeks were regaining their usual soft pink hue.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Elma asked. She watched him as he moved around the little kitchen area, ferreting out the neatly labelled canister and filling the kettle with water.

"It's tea," he said innocently. "How hard can it be?"

Elma's laugh was a breathy, awkward sound but it made him feel happy. "Depends on the palate of 'she-who-is-about-to-imbibe'. Some people are very particular about the strength of their brew. Some people like _me._"

"I'm a scientist," Adam protested. Opening the canister, he was startled to see, instead of the usual bags, a dry mound of leaves. "Oh..."

"Making tea is an art form." She rose from her chair. "Here. Let me show you."

Propping herself up beside him, she led Adam through the whole process with a teaching style that was humorous but firm. He fell in love with the delicate tea-strainer, shaped like a blossom; and the pot, with its bright cosy, out of which the brown spout burst, steaming with importance. The milk for his own drink went into a tiny jug. The lemon zest was sharp, and made his nose twitch.

As Adam poured the golden liquid through the strainer into the elegant china cups, his stomach gave an unexpected growl. He jumped, and some of the tea splashed onto the counter. "Sorry," he murmured.

"Easily done. It's a dribblesome teapot, that one. Can't get rid of it, though. We're old friends..." Elma's soft eyes hardened as she frowned at him. "Hungry, Adam? When was the last time you ate, young man?"

He didn't really need to answer. The flush that crept up from the back of his neck said it all. Moments later, he found himself sitting at the table with a loaded plate in front of him. Homemade fruitcake and cookies. Impossible to resist. Feeling ravenous by now, he tried to control his manners and eat in measured bites, instead of cramming the food down his throat at top speed. Even so, it wasn't long before the plate had emptied itself. Very mysterious. Adam grinned, dabbing at the stray crumbs with his fingertips. His thoughts strayed to Detective Flack, who would have been in heaven, faced with such a feast.

Elma sipped her tea and watched in satisfaction.

"I could get used to this," Adam told her, by way of a thank you.

She nodded. Clearly, there was something on her mind.

"I'd cook you a wonderful meal if it wasn't so late." Pausing, she tilted her head. "Who looks after you, Adam?"

"Hey! I'm a grown man, you know, not a kid," he told her, still grinning in order to hide the fact that he felt strangely defensive. "I take care of myself. It's been a long day, that's all. I didn't have time to eat."

"Oh, I know that you're capable. That's not what I meant." Elma tried again. "Where do you go when you need comfort? A kind word?" She smiled. "A cup of tea?"

"I have friends..." Yes - but when was the last time he'd seen them? _I'll fix that,_ he promised himself. Tomorrow. Or the next day... "And the guys at the lab - they're really great. We look out for each other..."

He stared at Elma, and she stared back. The expression on her face was... challenging. When did this start to become about _him_, anyway? The whole conversation had turned on its head. Time to turn it back.

"Tell me about your dream," he blurted, clutching at the first distraction he could think of. The wrong one, as it happened. Elma's colour faded once again and her eyes dropped down to study the dregs at the bottom of her cup. Adam's guilt was overwhelming. "Oh... it's okay. You don't want to..." He stumbled to his feet. "I should go now. Thanks for the cake. And the lesson..."

"Wait." Her bony hand reached out and circled his wrist. "Sit down."

Silently, Adam obeyed.

Elma rose from her seat and disappeared into the bedroom. When she returned, she was holding a photograph album. It was old and black, with battered corners that curled inwards. Some of the pages were warped, making it seem thicker than it really was. Adam raised his eyebrows. Was there a connection between Elma's photographs and her dream? Or was she, too, looking for a distraction? He waited patiently as she sank back into her seat.

"Do you know what's in here?" she asked him. Her voice was low and the tremor had returned.

"Memories?" he ventured.

"Ghosts," she said. "They haunt me..."

The cover creaked as she opened it and a musty smell mingled with the cinnamon; the past invading the present. Adam shuffled his chair around the table. Side by side, they bent their heads over the first page.

"That's you," he guessed, delighted. The little girl stared out at the world with defiance. She wore a knitted jersey over her school tunic and her dark hair was strained into two long braids. Around her, in the faded photograph, he could just make out a broad field of grass and, behind it, a high mountain, capped with streaks of white. "Where are you?"

"Wales," Elma told him. "Snowdonia. Home..." Passing a worn finger over the mountain, she sighed. "You know, it's true what they say. About getting old. Your memory seems to join up like a circle and the old times become the new. I don't know what I had for breakfast yesterday - but I can smell the rain in the air and hear the sheep bleating every time I see this. Do you understand, Adam?"

He nodded. "Yes. I think so. I... I used to visit my grandmother all the time, and there were days when she thought... she thought I was my dad. It was so real to her. She was there, right inside the memory, like it was happening to her... I just... I played along."

Elma turned the pages slowly. Images flashed by; like a movie reel in slow motion, telling the story of her life. Stone cottages. School photos, full of staring, wary children, still unused to having their soul captured. A stern-eyed mother. A hard-working father, clad in overalls most of the time. And later, as the girl became a young woman, there was a new face. A tall man, thoughtful and grave - yet his arm was around her shoulder in every picture.

"David," she whispered. And now she was utterly white, as though she herself were the ghost.

Adam's sharp mind put two and two together. "He's the one? That comes in your dream?"

"My husband. But not like this." Elma took a last look at the young man, then closed her eyes and turned to the very last page. Adam gasped. He couldn't help himself. The change was so sudden. Instead of the handsome, dark-haired man, he saw a weary figure in an armchair that seemed to have moulded itself around him. His face was bitter and there was a deep line between his brows. His mouth turned down at the corners. "Time leaves its mark on everyone, I suppose," Elma sighed, risking a glance at the picture. "David's enemy was worry. Money, health... fidelity... I tried to make him happy..."

So many words unsaid. Adam nodded slowly. "What happens in your dream?"

Elma shuddered. "Nothing happens. That's what's so alarming. He stands beside my bed, like a great crow, dressed in black with glittering eyes. And he watches me. Like he's waiting for something. Waiting for _me_... It's terrible..."

Once more, Adam took her hands in his. They were stone cold. Shaking his head, he got up and fetched the teapot, lifting off the cosy and wrapping her frozen palms around its chubby girth. The absurdity of his solution brought a tentative smile to her face.

"You're a kind man," Elma told him. "Odd - but kind."

Adam blushed.

"I'll be alright now," she continued. "If you need to get some sleep..." The wobble in her voice betrayed the lie in her words, but Adam pretended not to notice.

"Nah," he said, lying too. "I'm wide-awake. You?"

"Oh, certainly." She fixed him with her dark brown gaze. "Know any card games...?"

"Elma." Adam raised his eyebrow. "You are looking at the _master_. Any game you name. I'll beat you - hands down." He watched her reaction slyly.

Sure enough, his reckless challenge put a spark in her eye and a snap in her tone. "Bold words - but pride comes before a fall, young man. Fetch the pack, if you will. It's in my little bureau. I'll refill the pot..."

Cosy and warm in Elma's kitchen, they played together for several hours, pausing every now and then to make more tea. The lateness and the lack of sleep, mingled with the caffeine, left Adam's head buzzing, but he persisted valiantly. Besides, in a strange way, he was having fun. Elma was engaging company, and, just as she had hinted, _very _good at cards. His own luck was atrocious and her growing pile of gold-wrapped toffees dwarfed his own meagre winnings. He didn't care. Her rosy cheeks and gleaming eyes were the best reward that he could wish for. Leaning back in his chair as she hobbled off to boil the kettle yet again, he closed his eyes and bathed his face in the dawn rays that filtered through the kitchen window.

When he opened them again, the sunlight was achingly bright and his head felt fuzzy beyond belief. His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth and drool, he suspected, was running down his chin. Embarrassing enough - until a worse thought occurred to him.

"Oh God - what time is it?" he murmured, looking around for a clock.

Elma was nowhere to be seen but he could hear the cheerful sound of water running from the bathroom and a warbling noise that may, or may not have been singing. The cards and the unclaimed sweets had all been cleared away, and there was a tempting breakfast - cereal, milk, orange juice, a little rack of toast and a range of preserves - set out on the table before him, ready and waiting to be eaten. The ever-present pot of tea presided over the whole affair, looking smug and self-important.

Shaking his head to clear it, Adam caught sight of a tiny carriage clock on a shelf behind him and gasped in horror.

Eleven o'clock. In the _morning_. Too long - he had slept for _far_ too long.

And now he was late for work.

-xx-

**A/N: Updates on this story will be every weekend. Not as fast as I would normally like, but summer is a crazy time for me... Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Please review and let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Two**

_**"Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer." (Sun-Tzu)**_

Adam's first instinct was to run back to his apartment, grab his things and head for work as quickly as he could, trying to invent a cast-iron excuse for his lateness as he drove like a maniac through the mid-morning traffic.

His second instinct overrode the first.

No matter how dire the situation was, he could not simply walk out on Elma and leave her wondering where he had gone. That was beyond bad manners. That was cold - and thus, to a warm-hearted man like Adam, unthinkable.

He tried knocking on the bathroom door, but the water was loud and Elma's song was louder.

With a sigh, he returned to the kitchen and plonked himself back in the chair, legs twitching as though, if they had the power to do so, they would have taken charge and carried him away by now. Instead, he reached for a plate and absently started to butter some toast.

At long last, the shower and the song came to an end. Adam continued to eat as he waited. Three slices later, Elma appeared before him, clad in a flowery dress and bearing a smile that spoke clearly of her gratitude.

"Sleep well?" she asked him with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Oh - yes," he replied. "Um... you didn't wake me?"

"You were tired." Elma looked concerned. "Was that wrong?" Her smile slipped and he hastened to reassure her.

"No, not wrong. I guess my body knew what I needed, and so did you. Thanks for the breakfast." He gestured to the luxury spread. "But Elma, I really have to go now. Will you be okay?" _Please say yes,_ he thought desperately, keeping his face as straight as possible.

"Certainly." She bent herself into the seat beside him, reaching for the cereal box and a bowl. "Beth-Anne will be here any moment. She's my home help. You'd like her, Adam. She's about your age, you know... Pretty girl."

Oh, great. That was just what he needed. Help with his love life. Adam stumbled to his feet and coughed to hide his embarrassment. "Look," he said, "I'll come and see you later, if I finish on time. And, you know, if you need me in the night again..."

"Are you sure?" She eyed him sharply.

"Yes," he said, as he walked towards the door, trying not to look like a man in a hurry. "I'm sure."

Having seen Plan B through to the end, however reluctantly, Adam returned to Plan A. Run home. Grab his things. And drive like a maniac.

Check. Check. And check.

The cast-iron excuse was harder. Adam's imagination ran riot as he dodged queues and flew through intersections, clinging to the very edge of safety. _I'm so sorry, Mac, okay? I had to rescue a baby from a fire... A cat from a tree..._ It was fun to be the hero for a while, if only in his head. But Mac was no fool. Deep down, Adam knew that he should keep it simple. Stick to the truth. Something told him that the boss-man would probably understand.

No, Mac wasn't the problem. The problem was blonde and cute (dammit, _too_ cute) and right now she was standing at his workstation, doing his job and making all his colleagues think that she was better than him.

"She's not," he muttered fiercely. But the shiver was there, deep down. The chill that said, _what if...?_ And he was afraid.

Adam's speed increased. The car revved angrily.

A horn beeped, followed by the squeal of tyres - his own, he realised with horror. Fate, or the angel in the car behind him, had warned him in time and averted a nasty collision as instinct made him stomp his foot down on the brake pedal. Jolted forwards and then back into his seat, Adam took a shuddering breath to calm himself down and peeled his fingernails out of the steering wheel.

So he was late. So Haylen was out for his job. So what? There was no excuse for dangerous driving.

He flushed unhappily.

The rest of the journey saw him crawling meekly through the traffic like a mouse. By the time he reached the parking lot, it was midday. Finding a space took another half-hour. _Maybe I should just go home again, _he sighed. But Adam was nothing if not stubborn. The last corner of the last level yielded a space, dark and cramped, but large enough for him to creep into it. He only hoped that he would be able to reverse out again. Thank goodness his car was small.

He squeezed out of the crack between the driver's side and the concrete wall, scraping his elbow and cursing under his breath.

This day was rapidly going from bad to worse.

Entering the lobby, Adam groaned in disbelief when he saw the sign beside the elevators. 'Out of order'. Of course - why not? He shook his head. "Awesome..." he groaned.

"Psst," said a voice behind him. "Hey, buddy. Follow me, okay? The service elevator is our ride today. What, did you really think they'd make you climb all that way, you chump?"

Spinning around, Adam lowered his gaze and offered a grateful smile to Danny Messer, who was grinning back at him with something of his old enthusiasm. Both hands rested lightly on the wheels of his chair, which were caked with dirt.

"You gonna track that through the lab?" Adam quipped. "Mac'll be so pleased."

"You gonna tell him why you're late?" his friend retorted. "That would take the heat off of me."

"Don't let him bully you," Lindsay said, wandering up to them both and giving her husband a gentle smack across the back of his head that made him chuckle. "We've been to a crime scene," she explained to Adam, patting her case which was also covered in splashes of mud. "Not the cleanest alley in Manhattan."

"Oh," he said simply, following the pair as they headed down the corridor and into the secret world inhabited by maintenance staff and delivery men, on their way to the service elevator. Adam sighed with relief. Five minutes and he would be up there at last, back where he belonged...

_Oh, God..._

Five minutes.

Mac's face loomed before him. Haylen hovered in the background, beaming smugly.

_Well?_ said the frowning image of his boss...

"You're very quiet, Adam." Lindsay peered at him, concerned. "Bad morning?"

_Cat in a tree,_ his imagination prompted. Adam ignored it. Somehow, Elma's plight seemed a little too private to reveal at this point so he took refuge in a half-truth, knowing, even as he said it, how lame it sounded. "Late night. I overslept. And downtown was grid-locked."

"Happens to all of us. Isn't that right, Danny?" Clearly, Lindsay could sense his reluctance to talk and so she turned the focus of their conversation elsewhere, much to Adam's relief. Her tone was suggestive and her husband let out another chuckle. The wounded look on his face was a clownish parody of innocence. He did not deny the charge.

Lowering his head to avoid Lindsay's penetrating gaze as it swept back over him like a searchlight, Adam felt a sudden irrational surge of envy for the man who rolled ahead of them. Danny was so lucky. He caught himself, startled by the thought. _Yeah, right, lucky,_ he scoffed. But no; it was true. In spite of his recent misfortune, Danny had everything that Adam wanted. Everything tied up in one neat package; loving and loyal and warm. Such a strong bond between them. Such a 'rightness' to their relationship. Where in the world was there a girl who would care for _him_ so deeply?

_Beth-Anne. _ He thought wryly of Elma and her not-so-subtle matchmaking.

_Or Haylen Becall..._

The last thought was so outrageous that it made him wince. Lab gossip had turned the two of them into an item the moment that Haylen had shoe-horned her way through the door, as everyone mistook Adam's blushes and his stammering for tongue-tied infatuation. Nothing could be further from the truth. He could not answer for Haylen's feelings on the subject - she covered herself too well - but his own were adamant. Not if his job depended on it. Not if his _life _depended on it...

"Here we are," Danny sang out, stretching up to press the button that summoned the elevator. Weeks ago, such an awkward movement would have been a strain. But each day brought new strength and stamina to his injured back - not to mention a brighter glow to Lindsay's determined eyes.

Adam's own joy at the improvement was a secret one, but equally intense. Seeing his friend reduced to a haggard, pain-etched version of his former self had been hard to bear. He still remembered that night; still dreamed about it too. Thinking back to the shooting in the bar was like gazing through broken crystal; like the sickening aura that comes before a migraine. They had come together quietly to celebrate a life - and the world had fractured all around them. Could they ever put the pieces back together again? He longed to believe that it was possible.

Staring at Lindsay now, through the shards of memory, Adam watched her frown as they entered the elevator. No doubt, she was trying to make sense of his troubled expression. He waited for more questions - but they never came. Instead, her hand slipped out and brushed his arm, unseen by Danny. A moment of quiet reassurance, as though she had guessed exactly what was on his mind. Words were useless. The touch was enough.

"So - what's the case?" he asked her, forcing his voice to adopt a casual tone. The result was oddly convincing.

Lindsay was about to reply when the elevator shuddered to life. Danny's wheelchair rolled and Adam grabbed the handle, giving him a chance to hit the brake.

"Thanks, man," Danny said gruffly.

"The case?" Adam murmured, sensing his embarrassment. Lindsay nodded to her husband and he shrugged.

"It was a mugging. A nasty one. The victim's a mess. It's touch and go, according to the hospital..."

"There was a witness, though," Lindsay put in. "And we found plenty of evidence."

"In the mud?" Adam said with an innocent air.

Danny's grin crept back. "In the mud." The elevator reached the 35th floor and the doors slid open. Rolling out, he turned back and stared at the twin lines of dirt with a look of juvenile delight. Lindsay strode out behind him, her footprints tracking a light brown path beside his wheelmarks.

"Guess it won't be hard to find you guys if I need you," Adam called after them both as they disappeared down the corridor, waving briefly.

"Hehehe..." Laughter floated back over Danny's shoulder, making Adam smile. He couldn't help it.

Darting out of the elevator himself before the closing doors could trap him in the dingy car, he looked around with interest. This part of the lab was less familiar to him, being largely made up of random storerooms and unused offices. Ever since the budget cuts last year, faces had begun to vanish, never to be replaced. It was... unsettling. Adam was all too aware that one of those faces could have been his. Should have been his. Still might be...

He shook off the ugly thought and set off slowly in the direction of Mac's office. Better to get his confession over with as soon as possible. Rounding the corner, he reached the main corridor which ran through the busiest part of the lab. There, he saw Stella in _her_ office, vibrant curls bent over a heap of paperwork. When Adam passed, she glanced up, pinching the bridge of her nose with a weary gesture. He waggled his fingers gently in her direction, hoping to bring a glimmer of happiness to her face. And he did, for an instant - but then it was gone and she bowed her head back over her task.

Seconds later, a familiar golden gleam caught Adam's eye and he halted, slipping to the edge of the wide corridor and hovering just out of sight.

Haylen.

What was she doing?

Whatever it was, she was being assisted by Dr. Sheldon Hawkes, who seemed to be enjoying himself. Adam wondered moodily if _he_ should start a rumour, knowing full well that he would do no such thing. Dr. Hawkes was a kind man, after all, and he was just being helpful. Too helpful. Haylen laughed and tossed her long blonde hair. Shouldn't she tie that stuff up when she was in the lab? Adam's forehead wrinkled into furrows and he folded his arms. The scene was hypnotic. He couldn't tear himself away...

"Adam."

"Oh! Boss..." He gulped. _Not ready, _his mind begged, but it was too late. Just like him.

"Good of you to join us," Mac observed, pointedly checking his watch.

A clichéd line and yet, in this man's capable hands, it became quite ominous.

Feeling the old familiar panic rise within him, Adam wished that, for once in his life, he could be eloquent. Nerves would always be his downfall and they attacked him now with glee. "Thanks... I mean, no, boss, I'm sorry about that. I should have called you, but..."

"The dog ate your phone?" Mac suggested.

"I don't have... Oh! Right. I see what you... No, I couldn't get to it, okay? Not at first; and then I was rushing..."

"Adam," Mac repeated grimly, tilting his head and sighing. "Get to the point. Why are you late?"

The moment of doom was finally upon him - and suddenly, to his amazement, Adam found that he knew exactly what to say. Looking down at his shuffling sneakers, he gathered his thoughts with care and then directed his gaze straight at Mac. This time, when he spoke, his voice was calm.

"There's an old lady living next door to me and she needed... well, she needed a friend last night. It took a little longer than I thought, that's all. I..." He gave a sheepish grin. "I kind of fell asleep in her apartment. That part was my fault, I guess. The rest... Well, I'd do the same again. But I'm sorry to be so late, boss. Really I am..."

Mac stared back at Adam. Seconds passed, impossibly long. And then, with a twitch of his lips that could almost be taken for a smile, he nodded.

"Conference room. Ten minutes. Be on time," he advised - and finally, _there_ was the glint of humour that often lurked in his eyes for anyone to see if they dared to look closely enough.

Adam watched him walk away and let out the breath that he did not even know he had been holding.

"I did it. I think..." he whispered, full of astonishment.

His triumph was short-lived. A heartfelt groan escaped his lips as Haylen's laughter spilled through the open doorway of the Trace lab. Here was a problem that could not be solved so easily. There was a permanent knot in his stomach these days, and a lurking fear in the back of his mind. Haylen had made her intentions quite clear from the start; to him, at any rate. He had tried to defend himself but she was relentless. The echo of her challenge haunted him - his protest:

_"The job you're after? It's mine, okay..?"_

And her bold reply:

_"I'm not giving up..."_

Very well - then neither would he. This job _was_ his and he didn't intend to lose it. Not when he had already come so close.

Pasting on what he hoped was a nonchalant expression, he stepped into the room.

-xx-

**A/N: Thank you SO MUCH for all of your reviews/favourites/follows!**

**And thank you to Lily and Farmgirl, as always.**


	3. Chapter 3

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Three**

_**"What is important is not what you hear said, it's what you observe." (Michael Connelly, Trunk Music)**_

"Oh," Haylen said, beaming. "There you are. I thought you might be sick or something."

"Nah," Hawkes grinned. "He's late for work. Look at his face."

The jibe was a gentle one. Hawkes' eyes were kind and Adam resisted the crazy urge to hide his tell-tale features behind his hands like a child. So much for nonchalance. "Hey guys," he said. "Watcha doin'?"

"Mystery trace," the doctor replied. "I'm having problems - and Haylen was just telling me about this new article she spotted in the Journal of Forensic Sciences."

_Haylen was just... _Oh, wonderful.

"Yes," she cut in. "It's all about enrichment techniques. Have you read it?"

The killer question. No, of course he hadn't read it. He had been far too busy working his ass off to catch up on research lately. But what should he say?

Adam opened his mouth, hoping that a dazzling retort would simply come to him, but the words were reluctant and hid in his throat, sending only a squawk in their place. Haylen looked at him strangely. Hawkes knew him better and waited patiently for the lab tech to recover, amusement dancing at the corner of his lips.

At that moment, Lindsay poked her head around the door. Adam could have hugged her on the spot - the Messers were turning out to be his best friends today. "Meeting," Lindsay said briefly to Hawkes, and then, with a smile for Adam: "You coming?"

"Oh - um, yes." Feeling far more confident, he flashed a smug look in Haylen's direction. "Important staff meeting. Got to go. Sorry."

"Oh, that's okay," she said brightly. "I'll just go right back to cleaning my test tubes." As though even that were a treat.

Did she really have to be so perky? After all, Mac wasn't there. How could anyone be cheerful all the time? It wasn't natural. Maybe she was one of those alien interlopers, lurking in human form and waiting to feed off their brains, one by one...

Yes; and maybe, just maybe, he had finally lost the plot.

Stalking out of the Trace Lab, Adam followed his colleagues to the conference room and sidled in quietly. Lateness was making him feel quite disjointed - in the world, but not of it; not yet. He needed to find his bearings again. Settling down in a far corner, he tried to make himself invisible. To see without being seen.

He wasn't the only one hiding at the back. Don Flack's chair was tilted against the wall; his long legs stretched out casually in front of him, crossed at the ankles. Lately, casual seemed to have become the detective's watchword. Lowering his lashes and pretending to look elsewhere, Adam studied him. A knot of sympathy tightened in his gut as he took in the jersey, the jeans, the stubble and the glazed look that meant Flack's mind was wandering, lost and alone, a million miles away from the Crime Lab conference room.

Grief - and something more, Adam guessed. Something was gnawing at Flack these days, like a dog with a worn-out bone, refusing to let go of its prize until there was nothing left but old gray splinters.

It was two months since Jessica Angell had died in the line of duty. Two months and, looking at Don Flack, it could have been yesterday. Adam missed her bright face and her eloquent humour. Flack had lost so much more. His colleagues kept a close watch on the detective, but no one knew quite how to help him. Adam could tell that Stella was worried - Mac too. He had seen the guarded looks and caught the edge of their whispered conversations. Had heard them ask directly, driven by friendship and fear, but all Flack would throw out was that old familiar line. "I'm fine." Adam knew that line. It was a shield, and it hid untold damage. Flack was in trouble.

Blue eyes met his, challenging and fierce, and he turned away quickly, his cheeks crimson. Not so far away, then, that Flack couldn't feel the gaze of a prying lab rat. He shrank down further in his seat and stared at the table with rapt attention. Nervous fingers toyed with the silver band on his wrist. At long last he plucked up the courage to raise his eyes again, only to find that the meeting had started. When had Mac come in?

Moulding his features into a well-practised look of thoughtful interest, Adam tried to maintain the illusion that he was following every word when really he was far too tired to concentrate. All he could do was lie low and pretend - and hope that no one asked him anything vital.

Mac had already finished questioning Hawkes about their ongoing search for the baffling Compass Killer. What little evidence they had was being checked and rechecked by the doctor, in the vain hope that something new might be discovered - but so far, they seemed to be at a stalemate. Sad to say, the case would only move forwards if the killer struck again.

Moving on from Hawkes, Mac nodded to Danny and Lindsay. The man didn't even need words. Full of admiration for his boss, Adam wished that he, too, could give orders with a single glance. Disintegrate job-stealing blondes with his laser eyes...

Danny shifted in his chair. Taking in the whole team with the ease of familiarity, he cleared his throat. "Yeah, so, anyway - the victim's name is Conrad Valens. He's a student, who also works part-time washing dishes in the kitchen at Go Nuts For Donuts downtown."

There was a soft explosion of laughter, followed by an awkward silence. Mac's eyes swivelled around the room, but the culprit had covered their tracks and remained anonymous. Everyone's face was carefully blank.

Adam suspected Flack.

"The _victim_," Danny said slowly, emphasising the word, "had just left the subway and was heading for the donut joint when, according to a witness, two men in hoodies jumped him and dragged him off the street into a nearby alleyway. They stole his backpack and beat the living daylights outta the poor kid." For a moment, he looked sick. "I'm tellin' ya - these guys are vicious, okay? Talk about sadistic. Like they were gettin' some kinda thrill out of the whole attack. The theft was just an excuse. If the witness hadn't called the cops..."

Adam swallowed. There was an image in his head and it wasn't pretty.

"Is the victim conscious?" Mac asked quietly.

Lindsay took over the tale. "I've been in touch with the hospital. He's stable at last, and groggy, but awake. I'm heading straight over there, after this meeting. Danny's going to work the evidence we collected from the alley."

Mac's gimlet eyes shifted sideways and pinned down his target. "Good. Take Adam."

Lindsay's face betrayed her unspoken doubt as she glanced at her startled colleague, whose own reaction was far less subtle.

"Me?" he squeaked. Forcing his voice back down to its normal pitch, he tried again. "I mean - okay, boss; sure, why not? I just wondered..."

"Did you, or did you not request more experience in the field?" Mac said.

"Ages ago, but..."

"Perhaps you'd be happier cleaning test tubes with Haylen...?"

This time, the snigger ran round the whole room until Mac brought it crashing to a halt with one raised eyebrow.

_Was_ his suggestion a joke? Adam hoped so. Mac didn't usually listen to gossip...

"I'm gone," he said breathlessly, scrambling to his feet.

"Adam," Lindsay murmured. "Not now. After..."

"Oh." He sank back down. His cheeks were blazing and the tips of his ears were on fire. Eye contact with anyone was painful. The rest of the meeting was a blur.

Finally, the room began to empty around him. Adam became aware of a presence waiting at his shoulder. _Lindsay,_ he guessed - but when he looked up, the face that he saw was quite different, and totally unexpected.

"You shouldn't let things get to you so much," Flack offered.

Adam rose. Flack was tall, and craning his neck that far was painful after his extended chair-nap in Elma's kitchen. "Oh. Yeah, I know. I mean, great. I'll remember that next time..."

"Riiight." Pushing the word out slowly, like air from a puncture, the dark-haired detective gave one of his lazy grins. "Hey - sorry if I startled you before."

What? Where was this conversation going? "I didn't mean to stare. I just..." His protest fizzled out. There _was_ no other explanation.

"Sure - no problem." Flack shrugged and turned to leave. "Later, Ross."

"Okay. Um... thanks..."

As Flack sauntered out of the room, Lindsay popped back in. Her coat was on and her case was in her hand.

"Adam. Wakey wakey. Time to go."

-xx-

"But what do you _really _think?" Adam persisted.

Lindsay sighed and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, as though she were looking for guidance from the mushroom-coloured tiles.

Adam knew that he was irritating her and yet, somehow, he couldn't stop himself.

"I think you should cut down on the coffee," Lindsay told him, sounding exasperated.

"Actually, it was tea, okay? Lots and lots of tea. From a teapot... No, what I mean is, tell me what you think about _Mac_. Why d'you suppose he sent me? Really?"

"To drive me insane?" she suggested, archly. "Clearly, I'm the one who's being punished here."

Adam's laugh was wary. "Sorry, Lindsay."

Captured by his pleading eyes, she weakened. "Apology accepted. Look, Adam - Mac told you at the meeting, didn't he? You want more field experience; he's giving it to you. What other reason could there be?"

Put like that, the question was hard to answer. Adam's fear was vague and indefinable. He pushed it away and tried to turn his back on it.

"Room ten," he called out, changing the subject as he pointed to the number. "Here we are. Um... ladies first?"

"Is that chivalry or nerves talking?"

"Both," he admitted, softly.

Adam leaned on the door and Lindsay brushed past him. Moving after her, he let go and felt the heavy breath of air as it wheezed shut behind him.

A doctor was waiting for them. His clothes and his face were rumpled. He welcomed them both with a nod and the two CSIs moved in closer.

Adam clenched his teeth, forcing himself to look at the bed, and the victim. His stomach contracted, as though it wanted to hold on tight to its contents.

During his first year at the crime lab, it had taken him several months to pluck up the courage to visit the morgue. So many sad and empty shells; the remnants of violence and pain. But at least their torment was over. That was his coping technique, in the end. They were no longer there; and he could distance what he saw from who they had been, if he needed to. But to see such punishment inflicted on someone who still endured... Adam flinched. Memories crawled from the darkness at the back of his mind. There was bile in his throat, and he swallowed, trying not to gag.

"You okay?" murmured Lindsay.

"Mm. Fine," he managed to whisper. _That word again..._

Conrad Valens stared at both of them out of his one good eye. The other was swollen shut. A flaming cut across his cheek was held together with butterfly stitches. _Oh God,_ Adam thought. Had they used a knife as well?

The young man tried to smile but only one side of his mouth obeyed, jerking upwards stiffly. Several of his teeth appeared to be missing.

"Popular," he gasped.

Lindsay nodded, clearly warming to him straight away.

"We need your help, I'm afraid," she said. "And then we'll let you be. I'm Lindsay, and this is Adam. We're from the crime lab."

"In th' alley..."

"You remember?" Lindsay was surprised. "You seemed pretty out of it."

"Voice..." he told her. "Liked it. Kind..."

She flushed and glanced at Adam, who gave a tiny shrug. "He's right. You're right," he told the young man. "It is. And so is she."

Conrad's eyelid fluttered for a moment and he drifted. Drugs were claiming him - but he resisted. "Help," he said thickly, trying to rouse himself. "How c'n I help?"

"We want to catch the guys who did this," she told him gently. "But, in order to do that, we need evidence from you, I'm afraid. Adam here is going to take some pictures of your injuries, to begin with. Would you let him?"

"Yesss..." the young man breathed.

"Shall I stay, or go?"

Peering down at the sheet which covered the rest of his body, Conrad shivered. A look of embarrassment fought its way onto his face.

"I'll go." Lindsay made the decision for him. "Adam - be methodical, okay? Don't miss a thing. The doctor will be right here with you. I'm going to fetch Conrad's clothes from the ER, but I should be back by the time you're done."

Heading out of the room, she turned to glance at him one more time. Adam tried to look confident. This was such new territory for him.

Once Lindsay had left the room, the doctor lifted back the sheet and Adam saw the full extent of Conrad's injuries...

His stomach lurched again and he bit his lip. Conrad was watching him, desperate to see his reaction. Adam knew that he would have to fake it. The last thing he wanted to do was freak the poor guy out.

But... how had he _survived?_

"Bad...?" Conrad's question was urgent.

"Nah," Adam told him lightly, lifting the camera with hands that, by some miracle, were steady as a rock. "I've seen much worse."

Which was true, of course. Not that he was going to admit he was talking about the morgue...

_Flash._

The young man twitched. On the tiny digital screen, the image of his cut stood out in stark relief against the background of his cheek.

_I can do this,_ Adam thought. Methodical. Distant. It was evidence... that was all.

A broken collarbone and two broken legs. Footprints stamped across his flesh. Dark cuts everywhere; some quick and careless, some cruel and shockingly intimate. No wonder Conrad had felt ashamed. Adam's own cheeks were flaming by the time that he had finished. The doctor replaced the sheet and gave him a short nod of approval.

Adam breathed again

"Photoshoot over," he said to Conrad. "Time for the lovely Lindsay..."

When she walked back in, he murmured some brief excuse about needing a bathroom break, and slipped away. On his own, in the stalls, he gave way to the sickness that was roiling in his gut and emptied the contents of his stomach until he was gasping.

-xx-

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed/followed/favourited so far, and to Lily Moonlight and 1917farmgirl for their encouragement and advice.**


	4. Chapter 4

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Four**

_**"Friendship is the hardest thing in the world to explain. It's not something you learn in school. But if you haven't learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven't learned anything." (Muhammad Ali)**_

Adam was aware of Lindsay watching him closely as he drove back to the lab, but he managed to conceal his discomfort by concentrating on the road ahead.

Back at work, he took himself off to a quiet corner and began to download his collection of photographs, forcing himself to relive the sight of each horrific injury without flinching. Next time, he would do better...

Looking up from the screen when the last image had been logged, he saw Mac's eyes upon him through the glass. The boss gave a nod. What did_ that _mean?

"Just being friendly," he scolded himself, nodding back as Mac moved away down the corridor.

Several of the bruises on Conrad's torso had yielded a definite shoe impression; the criss-cross pattern clear in Adam's photographs. He zoomed in on the best image and accessed the Sole Print Database. Setting his search in motion, he leaned back in his chair and stretched, his back cracking stiffly as he yanked his arms outwards...

"Hey!" Stella laughed, dancing out of the way of his flailing fist.

"Oops," he cried, laughing too. There was no anger in her eyes, only amusement. "Sorry, Stella."

Moving round to stare at him properly, she shook her head. "Bloodshot eyes. Pale cheeks. And backache - apparently... You do know you're supposed to take a break from these things once in a while, right, Adam?"

"Thanks for the Health and Safety tip, okay?" he joked. And then, softly: "I know. I just had to get this done, that's all."

Stella looked at the image on the screen. Understanding flashed across her face.

"Bad?" she murmured.

"The worst..." Could he trust her?

Silly question.

"I threw up," he confessed. "Don't tell Lindsay. Or Mac..."

Stella made the universal motion of secrecy, locking her lips with a twist of her fingers and tossing away the invisible key.

"Not surprising," she told him. "Adam - it's no disgrace to feel like that. We've all been there."

"Even you?"

Stella smiled to hear the surprise in his voice. "Even _Mac_," she guessed.

Adam shook his head. "Yeah, right," he scoffed. "I doubt it."

"Ask him."

"No way..." The very thought was laughable. He gave a snort and glanced back at the screen, his attention pulled in by a frozen image. Sneaker. Generic brand; sold at discount stores across the city. Helpful.

Laying her hand on his shoulder, Stella murmured one final piece of advice. "Adam. This job will grind you down if you let it. Ease up, okay? And don't be so hard on yourself..."

He opened his mouth to protest, but when he turned he saw that she was already leaving the room.

"No problem, Stella," he whispered to her retreating back.

-xx-

Plugging away at one task after another made the end of the day come quickly. Haylen had floated in and out of his peripheral vision all afternoon, like an irritating speck in the corner of his eye, but somehow he had managed to ignore her. Even more miraculous - he had finished his final assignment on time.

Should he stay later? Balance out his missing hours? Hovering in front of his locker, he stared at the contents without really seeing them as he considered his options.

No. Exhaustion trumped guilt - today, at any rate. Besides, he had already worked far more overtime this month than Payroll would validate.

_I need sleep..._

He barely remembered the drive home. Not good - but somehow he managed to reach his neighbourhood in one piece. The autopilot in his brain had steered him safely and he was almost home free. He parked - or rather, abandoned his car in its usual spot, and scurried down the street towards the front door of his building, thinking warm thoughts of food and bed, and...

Whump!

The next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, staring up at the sky. Nearby, a woman was groaning.

Adam panicked. Visions of Conrad filled his head. Was this a mugging too?

"You jerk!" cried the woman's voice. "Watch where you're goin', why don't you?"

Who was she talking to? Pushing himself up on his elbows, Adam looked around him, full of trepidation.

Oh! Oh no...

She was talking to him.

"I'm so sorry," he gasped, scrambling to his feet and holding out his hand. "Did I hurt you?"

The young woman softened when she saw his expression of complete and utter chagrin. "Well - okay, no, but look what you did..." As he pulled her up, she tucked her fly-away hair behind her ears in a touching, child-like gesture and pointed to her shopping, which lay all over the sidewalk. Adam darted here and there, gathering it back into the bag; grapes, sugar, cookies, tea. Gold-wrapped candies...

"You're Beth-Anne," he blurted out. "That's Elma's shopping."

Her jaw dropped and she stared at him.

"Wow," she cried, wrinkling her nose. "How d'you do that?" Frowning, she took a step back. "You one of those mental types? Like a psychic, or somethin'?"

Adam laughed. "Wish I was. I never seem to know what people are thinking." _Especially girls..._ Hefting the bag in his hand, he frowned at the weight. "Did you carry this all the way from the store?"

"So what if I did?" Her face was still puzzled, as though she couldn't quite make up her mind about this clumsy and confusing stranger.

"Oh. Um... no, it's just that it's really heavy, okay? So, if you like, I could take it up as far as Elma's apartment. It's on my way..."

"Are you stealin' an old lady's shopping?" she asked him, suspiciously.

Oh, for heaven's sake._ Yes, _Adam thought, _I'm a desperate tea-thief. A sugar-stealer..._ "No," he explained, in the calmest tone that he could muster. "You can come with me. I just thought I'd carry it. Call it an apology for knocking you down, or something. Unless you'd rather..."

"No!" Understanding dawned, and Beth-Anne grinned, delighted. Adam had to admit that, when she smiled, she really was quite pretty, in a fluffy, wide-eyed kind of way. Not his type, but he could understand why the old lady was fond of her.

She jammed her hands into her coat pockets and followed him through the front door of the apartment block. He could feel her green eyes boring into his shoulder blades. It made him itch.

"So, how is Elma?" he asked.

"Tired," Beth-Anne told him. "Guess she had kind of a late night, or somethin'. Then she went and wore herself out with bakin' this mornin'. Now she's gone back to bed. So I took myself off to the store. Can't really clean when she's tryin' to sleep."

"I guess..." Mentally, Adam revised his intention to drop by and check on the old lady. Besides, it sounded as though she had the right idea. Bed. Sleep... His eyelids flickered and he yawned.

"You should cover your mouth when you do that," Beth-Anne observed primly. "Leastways, that's what Elma's always tellin' me. But I don't." She sighed. "I can't seem to get it there fast enough. The yawn is out an' gone before I remember."

"I know exactly what you mean." Somehow, Adam managed to keep his face straight. Beth-Anne wasn't trying to be funny. Watching her hop between the elevator doors, as though she were afraid that they might close on her at any moment, he wondered just how old she really was. Elma had put her at Adam's own age. Either that was a major compliment to his youthful good looks (he snorted), or Elma's eyesight was worse than he had thought. The girl was practically a child.

Arriving at Elma's front door, he returned the heavy bag of shopping to Beth-Anne and turned to go.

"Thank you," she said, with the air of someone practising a newly acquired skill. Her face beamed with pride at the fact that she had remembered. Clearly, covering her mouth when she yawned was not the only thing that Elma had been teaching her.

"No problem," Adam replied. He watched as she let herself in and then shuffled along to his own apartment, weariness dragging at his feet, which were almost as heavy as Beth-Anne's burden. Reaching the door, he stumbled awkwardly and looked down to see what had almost tripped him up.

It was a cake tin.

Adam's first thought, as a criminalist, was 'suspicious package'.

When his tired brain stopped over-reacting, he guessed that the real solution was far more logical.

Elma had been baking all morning, according to Beth-Anne. And this tin did have something of a 'little-old-lady' feel to it. It was round and sturdy, and decorated with a pretty woodland scene, complete with a Hansel and Gretel style fairy-tale cottage. There was also a subtle aroma of cinnamon clinging to it...

Adam grinned.

So Elma had been serious when she threatened to feed him up. Okay - he could live with that. He bent down and snagged the cake tin, cradling it in his arms as he fumbled with his keys and let himself in.

The coolness of his apartment was soothing and enveloped him like a freshly-made bed. Adam yawned again. He had no free hand to cover his mouth, and the thought made him giggle. "Sorry, Elma," he muttered.

Dropping his bag and his keys, he flopped down onto the couch and prised open the tin lid. The warm smell of fresh baking met him at once, and he closed his eyes, delighted. Once more, he was back in his grandmother's kitchen, sitting cross-legged in front of the oven door with bated breath, ready to warn her when the muffins had risen to the perfect height...

Adam's eyes popped open and he stared inside the tin.

The cake was beautiful. Not a grand and heavily iced affair, so intricate that you were afraid to cut into it and spoil the artistic creation. This cake demanded to be eaten. It was golden and soft, and covered in tiny white crystals of sugar, like the sparkle of a frosty morning. Leaning in, he picked up the scent of strawberry jam; not store-bought but home-made and rich with actual pieces of fruit. He ran his finger between the inside of the tin and the edge of the cake. It came away red and sticky. He licked off the jam, and sighed with heartfelt pleasure.

"Awesome..."

Resisting the strong temptation to dive in and eat the whole thing in one greedy, wonderful pig-out, he pushed up reluctantly from the couch and carried the tin to the kitchen table, where he set it down again and stared at it reverently before putting the lid back on.

"Real food first," he told himself, trying to be strict. "Then dessert..."

From inside the tin, the cake called to him. Adam's resolve weakened.

His hand reached out to the knife drawer...

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. "The Sensible Eating Squad," he murmured, letting the guilty hand drop to his side. "Come to stop me committing a crime against calories..."

Hurrying over to the door, he peered through the spyhole. He wasn't really sure who he expected - Elma herself, perhaps, come to see if he liked her gift. Or shy Miss Bettany from number thirty two, drifting across the hallway to borrow her weekly cup of sugar and gaze at him with her sad, hopeful eyes.

Not this time.

The face on the other side of the door was familiar, but not one that he had expected to see. For a moment, Adam considered staying quiet as a mouse and pretending that he was out. But then he remembered his vague promise, made the night before in Elma's kitchen.

_Call your friends..._

Or, if they turn up at your door without an invitation - let them in.

Dammit...

Adam was about to turn the lock when he realised that he had left it unlatched anyway. So much for security. _I blame the cake,_ he thought, as he yanked the door open and faced the outside world again with a fixed grin and a breezy manner.

"Kevin!"

"Hey, man..." his friend returned, in a tone that was equally suspect. "Long time no see, right?"

Adam bit his lip. The last time he had seen this particular friend, and the rest of his street hockey team, a bomb had exploded nearby and almost sent him to his Maker, express delivery. _Good times,_ he thought with a shudder.

"Oh, well, you know, I've been busy at work." The same old excuse. It was true, but that didn't make it feel any better. Adam sighed. "Come in, buddy. You want a beer? I think I've got one somewhere..." Wait - did he? When had he last gone shopping for any kind of groceries? Maybe the only food in the apartment _was_ cake. _Mine,_ he thought, stubbornly. Kevin's sweet tooth was notorious. Adam was kind - but not that kind.

"Um... thanks. I'm not alone - you mind? My cousin's in town and she's looking for fun. Said she wanted to meet you." _Please,_ Kevin's face said, urgently. That was Adam's first warning but he failed to heed it. The instinct to be helpful kicked in, as usual, and over-rode his suspicions.

"Sure. Um... where is she?"

"I left her in the lobby," Kevin answered with relief. "I'll just go and get her. We brought supplies," he added, by way of an extra bribe. "You're the man. I owe you one. Thanks, dude."

Feeling more than a little alarmed by this point, Adam watched his friend slope away down the corridor and wondered what he had let himself in for.

**-xx-**

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter!**

**Thank you to 1917farmgirl and Lily Moonlight, for being so supportive.**

**And thank you to the lovely people who finally released Season 8 on DVD in the UK...!**


	5. Chapter 5

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Five**

"_**Uninvited guests are often most welcome when they leave" (Aesop)**_

When it came to fast food, Adam's sense of smell was infallible. "Pizza," he guessed, peering out of his apartment as the elevator doors pinged open and a spicy aroma was released. It wafted down the corridor, mingling with the other scents that already lived there. He inhaled again and smiled. "Pepperoni..." The word was enchanting and tripped off his tongue. His empty stomach gave a little leap of happiness. Maybe this evening was going to be fun after all.

Moments later, his jaw dropped.

Kevin left the elevator, followed by his cousin. And she was... well, as Adam's stunned brain could attest, she was _not_ what he had expected.

His friend was unremarkable in every way - stocky build, mousy hair, broad face. A constant air of bewilderment at life's choppy tide and the speed with which it bore him onwards.

This must be a very _distant_ cousin.

She strode behind him, a whole head taller; lithe and thin, like a stalking cat. Long fair hair flicked from side to side as she glanced at her surroundings with a gaze that displayed little curiosity - until it settled on Adam. He gulped and looked away, flushing deeply at the sudden force of her appraising stare. There was hunger in her eyes that had nothing to do with food.

He tried to shake the uncomfortable feeling that a target had just been painted on his chest. Manly pride suggested that he should be flattered. Instinct told him to step back quickly and slam the door.

He dithered - and lost his chance.

"We're back," Kevin offered with a wary smile. Wanting to be a good host in spite of his misgivings, Adam tried to compose himself. Reaching out, he took charge of the three enormous pizza boxes that his friend was struggling to carry, and led the way into the apartment.

"So I see. Hi there," he called out, over his shoulder. "I'm Adam."

"Oh - sorry," Kevin said. "I guess I should have introduced you. This is..."

"Jade." She grinned. "Pleased to meet you, Adam. I'm the one with the manners. And the beer." She held up a six-pack of cans in each hand and he nodded politely, gesturing to the kitchen counter with his elbow.

"Um... thanks." His voice was light, but his mind was racing. What was that saying? About people bearing gifts?

Oh yes - _beware..._

More importantly, if he knew one thing for certain, it was that alcohol and empty stomachs didn't mix. A lesson learned in his very first week at college and never forgotten. Okay then - pizza first. Beer later.

Except that Jade seemed to have other ideas. Sliding a can from its plastic webbing, she popped the top and took a long draught, tilting her neck like a swan. Then she opened another and passed it to Adam.

"I'm good," he said hastily. Jade pouted.

"No fun," she said. "That's not what Kevin told me."

Adam gave his friend a glare that clearly said: _later. _"What...? Um... okay." He took the can and set it neatly down on the counter. "Just what _did_ my 'good friend' Kevin say?"

Jade giggled. "That would be telling. I knew you'd be cute, though."

"Cute?" Adam's face was aghast. Kevin quailed. "You said that? You said I was 'cute'?"

"I never did..." his friend protested feebly. "There was a picture. Of the team... Jade asked about you, that was all..."

"Relax. It's a compliment," she drawled, flinging herself onto the couch and draping her long legs over the arm. Long legs in skinny jeans... Adam turned away.

"Pizza," he mumbled. "You want some?"

"Sorry, man," Kevin whispered urgently as they opened the first box together. Jade, meanwhile, began rifling through the pile of games that lay on the floor beside Adam's couch. "She descended on me yesterday, out of the blue, okay? Freakin' force of nature. One night trawling round the city's hotspots and I'm already on my knees. There's no wearing her out."

"So you brought her here." Adam nodded. "I can see the logic..."

Kevin's face was pained. "Like I said, she saw your picture."

"Okay - I know I'm 'cute' and all, but really... You're telling me that's what did it? I mean..." Adam gestured discreetly. "Look at her. And look at me."

"No accounting for taste?" Kevin offered, helplessly. Which, of course, made Adam feel much better.

He pressed the heel of his palm against his temple. A dull ache was starting to throb there, tiny but insistent. The smell of the pizza, which had seemed so appealing five minutes ago, began to knock him sick and he pulled a face. Kevin didn't notice. He was too busy waiting on his cousin.

This was a nightmare. All Adam wanted was to lie down in a darkened room and give himself up to the welcome oblivion of a full night's sleep. Why couldn't he just ask them to leave? _I will,_ he thought urgently, and opened his mouth to speak - but Jade had already powered up the X-box and was waving Adam over to join her on the couch. A half-eaten slice of pizza drooped from one hand, threatening to dump its load of melted cheese and oily sausage on his clean... okay, _semi_-clean carpet. "Watch out," he cried, leaping forward. She caught it just in time, and giggled.

_If only,_ Adam thought. If only Elma hadn't got him thinking about his pitiful social life.

Oh well. Too late now.

With false cheer, he rescued Assassin's Creed from Kevin - who was well known for his clumsiness - and popped the disc into the console.

"So, Jade," he said, turning round and smiling in a guarded, 'I'm-flattered-but-no-thanks' kind of way. "You like games?"

-xx-

For a while, much to his surprise, Adam actually _did_ enjoy himself. Kevin had never been that much of a game player. Strategy was so far beyond him that Adam always had a hard time convincing him to graduate to anything more complex than Sonic the Hedgehog whenever he came around. But Jade was a clever, creative gamer, if a little aggressive, and he revelled in her skill, forgetting all about the look in her eyes and the predatory manner which had startled him so much. Maybe - and this seemed likely, given his track record - he had misjudged her.

Time passed. Adam's headache receded. He also managed to force down several slices of pizza, which sat in his stomach, refusing to digest. Kevin sat at his feet, with his back against the base of the couch and his legs splayed out beneath the coffee table, taking slow, habitual sips from his latest beer can - the fifth, by Adam's count. He was almost asleep. "Party pooper," Jade whispered, making Adam laugh even though he felt a little guilty afterwards. This had been just what he needed. A way to counteract the stress of his dreadful day at work.

He tried not to look at the clock, as the hands moved on... and on...

"Bathroom break," Jade sang out. She paused the game, leaving Adam blinking in surprise, and rose from the couch with graceful ease. His guilty eyes followed her progress as she sashayed across the room.

"I know," Kevin groaned. "She's my cousin - and _I _can't help it."

Adam's gaze snapped back to the screen. Too much information. "Hey, man," he muttered. "I don't want to be a killjoy, okay, or a..." _'Party pooper,'_ Jade's voice echoed in his head. "It's just - I was late for work today, and that's so, so bad. I can't be late again tomorrow. I need sleep..." He shrugged apologetically.

"Me too." Kevin didn't move. Clearly, he was going to be no help whatsoever. If Adam wanted his guests to leave, then he would just have to tell them. Firmly. No dithering this time.

He got up and wandered over to the kitchen, dumping his own empty beer can back on the counter before moving to the sink to wash the grease from his hands - and discreetly splash his face with water. Feeling slightly more alert, he turned and stared at the bathroom door.

Jade was taking forever. He hoped that she was okay. How much beer had she drunk that evening? What if - he bit his lip - what if she had passed out on the floor?

Five more minutes crawled by. Adam moved closer. "Jade?" he called out, feeling awkward.

The door swung open. Apparently, she had neglected to lock it. A thin plume of smoke drifted out and he recognised the scent at once. Jade followed, leaning on the doorframe with a joint in her hand and a mild expression on her face. No guilt. No apology.

"You look stressed," she told him. "Want some?"

'Stressed' didn't even come close to the way that Adam was feeling. Wordlessly, he took the offered joint. She nodded, pleased - but instead of raising it to his lips, he turned on his heel and marched back into the kitchen.

"Hey!" she called out. Too late. The sizzle as it hit the wet base of the sink was oddly pleasing. The stench that followed was not. "You shouldn't have done that."

"And you should have asked," he told her quietly. "I don't like people sneaking around in my apartment."

This time, Jade had enough common sense to look penitent. Her eyes shifted quickly to Kevin - but he was far too busy draining the bottom of his can to notice. "I know where you work. _He _told me. You would have said 'no'."

"I would have said 'wait'. Or 'go outside'. What you do to your body is your business - I know that, all right? What you do in my home is mine. I think... I think I'd like you to leave now. Please..."

Jade laughed. "And if I refuse?" she demanded, archly.

Adam blinked.

"What...?"

"Don't worry." Laughing again, she strolled over to her tipsy cousin and hauled him up from the floor by his arm; her wiry strength overcoming his feeble resistance. "I'm just messing with you, Adam Ross. Great night - thanks a lot. And I'll see you around..."

"Oh - yeah, sure," he said, feeling more than a little unnerved.

Meanwhile, Kevin had finally registered that they were leaving. He leaned on Jade and reached out to pat Adam on the back. "Good fun... Thanks, buddy..."

Adam shook his head and sighed. "Get him home," he said to Jade. "He's had enough."

"Yes, _mom_," she teased. Catching the look in her eye, Adam had the distinct feeling that Kevin's evening was far from over.

"You want me to call you a cab?"

"I'll flag one down. Or we can take the subway. It's only a couple of stops to Kevin's place." Her smile was bright. Was she lying? He hoped not.

"Please," he said, "be careful."

Jade gave him one last appraising look. "You really do worry too much," she advised. Kevin clung to her, full of drunken trust.

As the mis-matched pair staggered off down the hallway, Adam shut the door behind them. "That's not always a bad thing," he whispered to himself.

Trying not to think about the mess all around him, he closed his eyes and revelled in the silence until weariness made his head spin and he realised that he was in danger of falling asleep. Was that even possible? Sleeping on your feet? He opened his eyes again quickly. Probably not a good idea to try and find out.

With a wide yawn, Adam stumbled into the kitchen. The stench from the sink caught the back of his throat. He opened the window, just a tiny crack but enough to let the stale air from his apartment seep out overnight - he hoped. Then he threw the soggy joint in the trash and swilled the last dregs down the drain. The pale stream of water made him thirsty, so he filled a glass as well and poured it down his throat in one long gulp.

As he turned to leave, the cake tin caught his eye.

He had tucked it out of sight between his empty fruitbowl and a pile of unread magazines. To his relief, neither Jade nor Kevin had noticed it. Reaching out, he picked it up again and lifted the lid.

"I've had pizza," he reasoned to himself. "It's okay to have cake..."

Besides, his mouth felt like the inside of a garbage chute; all greasy and sour. His stomach felt the same. They were crying out for sweetness and he happily obliged. Pulling a plate from a nearby shelf, he cut himself a generous slice and then balanced the treat in the crook of his arm as he turned out the kitchen light. Snacking in bed wasn't usually his style - too many crumbs - but Elma's cake begged him to make an exception.

Five minutes later, he slipped between the sheets, feeling like a child with a midnight feast. Which, of course, made the whole thing so much more exciting. The cake was heaven. He savoured every bite, relishing the love and care that Elma had put into it. Then he ran his finger around the empty plate and licked his lips to find the last of the sugar before dropping his head against the pillow, satisfied at last.

Dream time. Maybe he could go back to the railway tracks...

Three hours later, he was still awake. For some unknown reason, his brain refused to switch off and he kicked his feet in frustration, causing the sheets to tangle round his legs like a sticky web. He tore them off and threw them to the floor. Now the bed was bare - and he was cold.

Remembering the open window, he rolled to his feet and lurched across the room, dazed and grumpy.

That was when he heard it; a low sound, and muffled. Not knocking but weeping.

Adam paused. This was a dilemma. Elma hadn't called for him. Was that because she wanted to be alone? Or was she reluctant to wake him two nights in a row?

He tapped softly on the wall.

The sob became a hiccup. For a moment, there was silence. Then an answering knock; Elma's stick, gentle and apologetic. Adam dressed himself quickly and slipped from the room, his bad mood forgotten. Pale light was already creeping through his apartment as he left it.

When he saw Elma's face, he knew that he had made the right decision. Gratitude shone through her tears. She was white and shaking. Clearly, her latest nightmare had been a bad one. Adam motioned for her to stay in bed. No more tea parties - this was serious.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said urgently, as he opened his mouth to ask that very question. "Please, not now. It's too near..."

Adam understood. "Then what?" he asked her, keeping his voice low.

"Read to me?"

He looked around. There were several books on her nightstand. He picked up the first one, which fell open, dropping its flowery bookmark. Poetry. Oh...

He cleared his throat. _"And death shall have no dominion..."_ he began.

Elma's face turned even paler and she clutched his hand, halting him instantly. "Not that one."

Adam turned the page and tried again. His second choice seemed more hopeful.

_"Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs  
__About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green..."_

Elma closed her eyes and sank back against the mound of pillows. Gradually, her breathing deepened. Was she asleep? He couldn't be certain. His voice grew soft as he carried on reading; the gentle flow of words like a waking dream...

-xx-

**A/N: The two poems are by the Welsh poet Dylan Thomas - 'And Death Shall Have No Dominion' and 'Fern Hill'.**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing - I love to read your comments. They keep me going! And, of course, thank you to 1917farmgirl and Lily Moonlight who always give me such great support and advice.**

**Next chapter? Back to the lab - and things do _not _go well for Adam...**


	6. Chapter 6

**OUT THERE**

**A/N: This chapter was a lot of fun to write! I hope you enjoy it...**

**-xx-**

**Chapter Six**

_**"People have died from hiccups, you know." (Noël Coward, 'Hay Fever')**_

"You look terrible."

Haylen popped up behind him like a genie from a bottle. Adam jumped and almost dropped the pot of fingerprinting powder that he was holding. Puffs of yellow dust plumed in his face and made him sneeze.

"Gesundheit."

"Oh... um, thanks." He turned around and stared at her. "Haylen - what are you doing here? I thought you were only coming in once a month?" That had been the one bright side to this deal that she had apparently worked out with Mac.

Haylen smiled and his heart sank. "Paid work, yes. But you can never have too much experience. Detective Taylor said that I can come in and work on a voluntary basis whenever I want to." She laughed. "You can't get rid of me that easily, you know..."

"Hehehe..." Was that a joke? And could she tell that his laugh was a nervous reaction?

Undaunted, Haylen continued. "Are you feeling okay? You look as though you've barely slept. That isn't good for you, you know. I always try to get at least seven hours every night."

Which explained why she was always so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. "I was reading," Adam told her. Not a lie - just misdirection. As far as she knew, he could be talking about the Journal of Forensic Sciences, or something equally dry. Not poetry... Although, secretly, he had to admit that he'd rather enjoyed it. "I lost all track of time - you know how that goes, right?"

"Oh, yes." She peered at the layout table. "So, what are you doing? Can I help?"

"Almost done," he bluffed. Well, he _was._ "Maybe one of the others...? I thought I saw Stella in Ballistics." Let her try and cosy up to the feisty Greek detective. Adam gave the first real smile that he had managed since arriving at work that morning.

"Good idea. Thanks." She practically skipped out of the room. Or was that just his sour interpretation? _Stop it,_ Adam told himself, suddenly tired of feeling so pessimistic. The whole thing was ridiculous. Haylen was a perfectly nice young woman who knew what she wanted out of life and was trying her best to achieve it. What was wrong with that?

_Hic!_

Adam jumped again. The powder flew right out of his hand and landed on the floor, shooting out of the pot in all directions. Nearby, a lab tech sniggered.

_Oh well, _he thought, trying to stay positive as he stared at his dusty yellow sneakers. At least it hadn't landed on the evidence; Conrad's broken glasses from the crime scene yesterday. A floor was easily cleaned.

_Hic!_

The lab tech laughed again. Adam resisted the urge to glare at him. "Do me a - _hic_ - favour?" he asked, instead. "Watch my station? I need to go and... _hic!_" He shrugged, and gave up, gesturing at the mess. The lab tech made a non-committal sound that Adam hoped was a 'yes' as he darted from the room.

He flew past Lindsay, who stepped backwards in surprise. "Sorry - _hic_!" he managed to call out as he high-tailed it down the few short steps that led to the locker room. Cleaning up the mess was important, he knew. But the hiccups were actually starting to hurt. They wrenched at his chest as though they were trying to yank out his lungs.

Water. He needed water.

Bursting through the door, he almost knocked Hawkes flying. "Hey," the doctor cried in mild amusement, grabbing his shoulders.

"_Hic,_" said Adam dismally.

To his credit, Hawkes managed not to laugh. "Oh, that's too bad," he grinned, pushing Adam down onto the nearby bench.

"Know any good - _hic_ - cures, doc?"

"Well now, there's a lot of speculation..." Adam could tell that Hawkes was about to launch into some kind of lecture on the subject. He tried not to look apprehensive. Catching the hint, Hawkes shook his head kindly. "But we don't need to go into the whole mythology of hiccup remedies right now. Let's just try them out until we find one that works. You good?" the doctor added, concern in his voice.

How bad did he look? "I'm - _hic_ - fine..." Adam spluttered. Very convincing.

"Okay..." Hawkes folded his arms and considered. Adam felt like a bug under scrutiny - a very red, very uncomfortable hiccupping bug.

Or just a fool.

"If we can find out what caused it... Maybe it's something you ate? What did you have for breakfast?"

"Um... cake," Adam said in a low voice.

"Cake?"

"Homemade," he protested - as if that made any kind of difference. "A gift from my neighbour."

Hawkes shook his head and tried not to look judgemental. "Cake it is, then. Not well known for causing hiccups. Nothing spicy to eat last night?"

"Pizza..." Adam was starting to feel a little defensive about his diet. "Doc, I don't really care why I've -_ hic _- got 'em. I kinda just want them to - _HIC!_"

"I'm guessing that last word was 'stop'," Hawkes supplied regretfully. "Sorry. It's the doctor in me. I can't help myself - first the diagnosis, then the cure. Okay, so we need to distract your vagus nerve somehow."

"_Distract_ it?" Was that doctor-speak for something painful? "Can't you just give me a scare? Or better yet, a drink of water?"

"That's exactly what I meant," Hawkes said, trying to stay patient. "The vagus nerve runs from your brain to your abdomen. It's irritated right now and if we give it something else to deal with, the hiccups should stop. Stick your fingers in your ears."

"Ex_cuse_ me?"

"Adam. Do you want my help or not?"

Adam was starting to wonder - but the look on Hawkes' face was enough to trap his protest, and even the next hiccup, in his throat. He swallowed nervously. "Fingers in ears. Got it." Praying that nobody else would come into the locker room, he did as he was told. "Um... doc. Why am I doing this?"

"I told you. We're trying to stimulate the nerve endings."

"_Hic!_" Adam shook his head. "I don't think it's working..."

"Okay. Then let's try holding your breath."

_Yes, 'let's'. _ Adam felt a little sulky. Only one person in the room was looking stupid right now and it wasn't Sheldon Hawkes.

_Hic!_

"Okay, okay..." He clamped his left hand across his mouth and pinched his nose with the finger and thumb of his right hand. Hawkes watched him eagerly.

"What we're trying to do this time," he explained, as Adam turned bright red and his head began to swim, "is overload the blood with carbon dioxide... Hey! Let go!" He reached out to steady Adam, who dropped his hands, gasped... and hiccupped.

"Dammit." Adam's exclamation was dejected. "Hawkes, look, it's okay. I give - _hic_ - up. I left a bit of a mess in the Fingerprint Lab. I'd better go and fix it."

"At least try a drink of water," Hawkes suggested, full of sympathy.

Nodding, Adam left the bench and moved to the fountain, where he stayed for several minutes, crossing his fingers in his pocket as he drank and drank. When he stood up, water dripping from his beard, they froze - and waited...

_Hic._

"There you go, then." Adam shrugged. "Thanks anyway. I'm sure they'll stop eventually."

"Of course they will. Look, man, I'll come with you. What kind of mess...?"

Hawkes followed Adam out of the locker room door, as he tried to explain exactly what had happened without making himself look even more foolish. Taking a detour, they collected a bucket full of cleaning materials from the nearest storeroom. When, at last, they arrived at the Print Lab, Adam realised with a sudden jerk of horror that his day was about to get even worse.

At least the shock appeared to have cured his hiccups.

Mac stood in front of the abandoned workstation, frowning deeply. Nearby, Haylen hovered, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Adam's heart sank as he noticed that the other tech was nowhere to be seen.

"Uh-oh," Hawkes murmured in his ear. "I think you're in trouble..."

Adam edged into the room, both hands clutching his bucket. "Hey, boss," he began. "You'll never believe what happened..."

"I'd better," Mac said grimly. "Adam, this is unacceptable."

"The powder?" He stared at the yellow floor. To his guilty mind, it seemed far worse than it had when he left. An explosion of colour. A riotous mess.

"The evidence." Mac's frown deepened. "Left out on the bench, with no one to watch it. Chain of custody, Adam. You know how important that is."

Adam's glance flicked to Haylen. He couldn't help himself. The guilt on her face increased. "I didn't..." she mouthed, as she shook her head imperceptibly. Didn't what? Mean to get him into so much trouble?

"I never left it alone, Mac," he said in a low voice. "I know the rules, okay? There was a tech..." His brain froze. What was the man's name? He searched for it desperately. "Richard! Richard... something. He promised to watch it..."

Or did he?

A sneaking doubt crept into Adam's mind and he lowered his head. "I had hiccups," he mumbled. Even to his ears, it sounded like a feeble excuse.

Mac took the word and turned it into a loaded question. "Hiccups?"

"Bad ones," Hawkes put in helpfully. "Which seem to have gone now..." His voice tailed away. There was an uncomfortable silence.

A lab tech passed by the open doorway. "Richard!" Adam squeaked.

The dark-haired man looked wary. Suddenly, everyone's eyes were fixed upon him. "Yes?"

"This is him?" Mac demanded. Adam gave a nod of pure relief.

"Tell them," he said to Richard. "Tell them I had to leave. I asked you to stay - right?" Even as he spoke, he saw the subtle, guarded look slide down across the other man's face and knew exactly what was going to happen.

Richard was going to lie. To cover his own ass and let Adam take the fall.

Awesome.

"Not me," he said lightly. Adam had to admire his skill. No hint of deception. No flicker at all. Just a blank expression and a glib excuse. "You must be thinking of someone else." He turned to Mac. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what he's talking about. When I left the Print Lab fifteen minutes ago, Ross was working alone. I've no idea what happened next." He glanced at the powder on the floor. "Though I think I can guess..."

Adam squirmed.

"Enough," Mac said. He sounded weary. Almost as weary as Adam felt. Accepting Mac's curt nod of dismissal, Richard sidled away. Hawkes, too, drew back ever so slightly. Haylen was trapped, but the look on her face said that she would give anything right now to be able to flee the scene. "Clean it up," Mac continued, gesturing to the mess. "Secure the evidence. And see me when you're done. My office."

Oh, great. A suspended sentence. Adam hung his head once more as Mac strode past him. When he looked up, Haylen was in front of him.

"I didn't," she repeated softly. "I know what you're thinking and I don't blame you, but it's the truth."

The truth. Like Richard's statement? Adam couldn't bring himself to speak, so Haylen continued regardless. "Detective Bonasera didn't need me. I was walking past when I saw the mess. I came in to see if you needed any help - but there was no one here. That's when Detective Taylor appeared. You think I went and got him. You think I wanted to make you look bad."

Why not? She'd done it before... Wasn't that how this whole thing started?

"Okay," Adam said, afraid to trust himself with any more words than that.

"Okay?" She gazed into his eyes, as though she were trying to read his mind.

"Okay," he insisted, firm now and anxious for her to leave. "Look, I have to get on and clean this up. D'you mind?"

"Want some help...?" she ventured. "Crime scene cleanup expert, remember...?" The joke was feeble. Adam shook his head, waving Hawkes into the room.

"Got some. Thanks." The word felt bitter on his tongue.

Both men watched her leave in silence. "Not her fault," Hawkes said. "You know how Mac is. Always popping up when you least expect it."

"Oh. Yeah..." Adam muttered, hiding his anger deep inside as he set down his bucket and stared at the task ahead of him.

-xx-

Tapping on Mac's door in full view of everyone walking past, Adam felt like a guilty schoolboy. He had cleaned the floor but the powder had fought back, covering him from top to toe. Hawkes hadn't fared much better - but at least he had a change of clothes in his locker. Adam had used his the other day, after an unfortunate incident with a pile of garbage, and had somehow forgotten to replace them. So now he was stuck; a jester in a suit of sunshine patches that did not match his mood. At least he had managed to find a fresh lab coat.

Mac looked up and waved him in. He was on the phone. Adam forced himself to walk through the door and stand in front of the desk, a half-formed apology hovering on his lips as he waited for the boss to finish his conversation.

He glanced at the chair - but Mac pointed to the couch. That was his first surprise. The next one came a moment later, when Mac's call ended and he headed for the door. "Wait there," he said. "I'll be right back."

And Adam found himself alone.

"Okay..." he murmured. "Different..."

Leaning back, he settled into the couch. Why had he never realised how comfortable it was? Adam shook his head wryly. "Probably because, every other time I sit here, I'm on the edge of my seat," he told the empty room. "Literally." The joke brought a tiny smile to his lips. He wriggled, and closed his eyes.

Bad move.

"Adam," said a quiet voice. The strong smell of coffee filled his nostrils. Dragging himself back to reality, he felt, rather than saw Mac sitting beside him. A hot mug was shoved into his hands as he turned and blanched.

"Hey, boss. I was just..."

"Resting your eyes?" Mac suggested. "Confirms my theory. Drink up."

The coffee was scalding hot. Adam blew on it carefully and then took a sip. It tasted bitter but he swallowed anyway, not daring to spit it out. He glanced across the top of his mug and found that Mac was staring back.

"Now," his boss said. "Talk to me."

A dangerous invitation. Adam could tell by the gleam in Mac's eye that he saw the funny side of his request. _I can be succinct,_ he decided. And tried. Really hard...

"Look, I'm sorry, boss. About the powder. It was the hiccups, honestly, and they made me jump, so..."

"Adam. I don't care about the powder. I'm asking about _you_."

"Me?" His voice sounded small and lost to his own ears. Pathetic. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I mean - why, boss? I'm fine."

A look of sheer exasperation passed over Mac's face for a moment, startling Adam. "Do you know," he said, "how sick I am of hearing that phrase?"

And suddenly Adam's mind flashed back to the casual, slouching figure in the conference room. "I'm sorry," he said once more. "You're right. I guess I'm a little tired, okay, Mac? I haven't been getting much sleep."

"Much? Or any?"

Oh, the man was good - no doubt about it. Adam bit his lip; an answer in itself.

Mac continued to stare as Adam sipped at the coffee nervously. At last, he spoke again.

"It's hard," he said. "This job can be... demanding. And your private life is just that - private. But Adam, if you can't keep the two in balance..." He paused, and gave a short laugh. "I realise, of course, that I'm not the best person to be giving you this lecture."

The joke was meant to help; Adam knew that. He tried to smile.

"It's okay, boss. I understand. I'll get some sleep. A good seven hours..." The grin that came at last was wider than he expected - until Mac spoke again and wiped it from his face in an instant.

"About the evidence..."

Oh, God. Here it came. "I'm sorry," was all he could say.

Mac shook his head. Was that... puzzlement in his eyes?

"Adam, you've never lied to me. I trust you; you know that. And if you tell me that Richard promised to watch your work, I'll believe you. But tiredness... it can play tricks on you..." He seemed almost uncertain how to continue. That was new and it frightened Adam, as he saw what he thought was the meaning behind Mac's words.

"You think I've gone crazy?" he gasped. "That I imagined the whole thing? Is that what you're saying?"

The outburst startled Mac.

"Of course not. I'm saying you're worn out. I'm saying that _maybe_ not everything happened the way you remember it... Adam, are you sure? If you tell me you are, then the matter's over as far as you're concerned. I'll call Richard in here instead and deal with his lie."

His lie. Adam frowned. He thought back as hard as he could. A sick feeling had begun to worm its way into his gut. "I think... I'm sure... I asked him, Mac. I know I did. He was there alright. But..."

"But?" Mac prompted.

"But he didn't answer. It was... a snigger. He sniggered. I'm sure of that now."

"Now? Not then?"

"I... I don't know." Adam felt so stupid. All this fuss because he had been so careless. Mac was right. He was tired. Too tired to work, and that was unacceptable. The solution was simple. "Maybe..."

_...I should go home,_ he was about to say. Before he could finish his sentence, however, Danny rolled up to the door and peered through the glass in search of Mac. Adam's mouth snapped shut.

"What is it?" Mac's voice was sharper than it could have been. But the look on Danny's face was urgent. He wheeled into the room, giving Adam a curious glance before he spoke.

"I don't want to interrupt - I'm sorry, Mac; there's been another one. And this time..." His eyes narrowed. Adam could see the anger in them. "Well, the victim didn't make it. Died at the scene, just as the paramedics got there."

Instantly, Mac's demeanour changed. He stood up. "Go with Lindsay."

A twitch - just a twitch of frustration ran through Danny as he gave his calm reply. Adam marvelled at his self-control. "I can't. No access, boss. You'll have to send someone else."

"Can I go?" Adam said.

"I'm not done with you yet." Mac turned. Had he misunderstood?

"No, boss. I mean - can I go to the crime scene? That is... if you think... It's just that I want to," he admitted suddenly. "Conrad, yesterday... The victim... I want to help." The words came out in a hopeless jumble. Safe behind Mac, Danny pulled a sympathetic face.

"No."

Adam's head dropped. "No?" he echoed. No. Of course not. Why on earth would Mac let him go to a crime scene, a vital one, after his inept behaviour this morning? _What was I thinking...?_

The truth was, he couldn't seem to get the image of Conrad Valens out of his head. Over and over again, the doctor lifted the sheet and his heart stopped...

"I have to do something," he murmured.

Mac sat down again and sighed. "I ought to send you home..." he said, half to himself.

"Please don't," Adam begged. "No more accidents, I promise."

"No more hiccups?" Mac said, much to Danny's bewilderment.

"All gone." Adam's tone was fervent. "I'm fi... I'm okay, boss. Really. And when this shift is over, I'll get that sleep we talked about..."

"You'd better." Shaking his head, Mac reconsidered. "CCTV. Both..."

"...scenes. On it, boss." Adam rose from the couch, still clutching his mug, and edged past Mac. "Thank you," he added, softly.

Mac turned back to Danny. His face was unreadable. "Find Richard Polson," he said, "and send him to me."

-xx-

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who read/reviewed the last chapter (I love reading your comments!), and to Farmgirl and Lily, who are so generous with their time and advice.**

**More soon, as the story begins to take a darker turn...**


	7. Chapter 7

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Seven**

_**"You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it." (J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix)**_

"I hope that's not your lunch," Stella said with concern, watching Adam pull his candy prize from the vending machine.

"Oh - no." He grinned. "Sugar rush." Ripping the packet open, he poured out a rainbow-coloured handful and crammed them straight into his mouth. "Wan' thum?"

Stella shook her head as he swallowed the candy. "You and I need to sit down and have a serious talk about nutrition..."

"I'll look forward to it." He tried to keep his face straight but a tiny twitch of the lips betrayed him. "Until then, my Skittles and I are off to the AV lab."

"You know you can't eat in there," she called after him. He waved the empty bag above his head in acknowledgement. The rest of the candy was already in his mouth.

Reaching the lab, he was pleased to find it empty. No Richard this time, thank goodness - Adam had last seen his foe slinking out of Mac's office ten minutes ago with a hangdog expression on his face. No other lab techs drifting through, checking searches; no fight for the workstation with its triple screens and - oh bliss! - its ergonomic chair... Adam slipped into what he liked to call _his_ seat and pulled out his notebook, snapping the elastic back and flicking through to find the information that he needed. Squinting, he followed the line of writing with one finger as he logged into the site and tried out the first address that Danny had supplied.

To his great disappointment, there was a pitiful array of cameras to choose from. Two of them were down and not one of the others was angled towards the alley where Conrad Valens had been attacked. The donut bar was in full view, however, so he cycled back to the time of the mugging and watched the passers-by with interest, making fresh scrawls in his notebook whenever someone or something caught his eye. There were no hooded figures, nor was there any sign of Conrad. He widened the search, checking out the adjoining streets all the way to the subway station, staring at the early morning scenes until his eyes grew blurry and the strolling figures twisted out of shape.

There!

Adam caught his breath. _There_ was Conrad, headphones in his ears, a smile upon his face. Not a care in the world. Unaware of the threat that stalked him...

Resisting the wild urge to call out a warning, Adam stared at the two figures in dismay. Their intent was clear. They followed Conrad as though they had been drawn to him, like predators scenting their prey. Their hoods were up and their faces were hidden, but Adam could see that the tall, skinny one had long blonde hair and the shorter one was dumpy.

He peered at the shining strands. _Very _long. Surely not... a girl?

Yet why should that surprise him, after all he had seen in the last few years? The sweetest face could hide the darkest secrets.

Conrad disappeared from view. Moments later, his shadows vanished too.

Unbidden, the rest of the scene played on in Adam's imagination...

"Stop," he told himself sharply. The sound of his own voice made him flinch. Looking up from the screens, he saw with relief that he was still alone. Even Mac's office, over the way, was deserted. For a moment, Adam felt as though he were the only person in the whole lab. Then Hawkes wandered past the window and waved to him, calling him back to reality. Adam fixed a cheerful grin onto his face and waved back - too late, as the doctor was already halfway to the elevator.

Saving a copy of the feed from the first scene, Adam typed in the second address. This one, he had also gleaned from Danny, along with the name of the victim. Marissa Kelly; widowed mother of three.

On the next screen, he called up the photo from her driver's licence and peered at the woman, studying her features. Unhealthy skin, limp hair. Apologetic eyes and a tightness to her lips that said she really hated having her photograph taken - or hated the world in general. Not a happy woman. Adam sighed.

"Why you?" he wondered, speaking to the picture. "What made you stand out?" There seemed to be no pattern to these muggings other than the violence itself, which was heartless.

Finding footage of Conrad the old-fashioned way had taken far too long, so Adam changed his tactics and set the facial recognition programme in motion, charting the unique proportions of Marissa's features and letting the computer search through the split-screen views in front of him. The crime scene itself was a dark and ominous stairway. A bad place that made him shudder; a shortcut inhabited by wolves. He could see them now, lurking in the shadows, faceless within their hoods. The tall one had a blade and was flicking it; in, out. In, out. And suddenly, far too soon, there was Marissa, yards away and moving quickly in spite of her heavy bags. The two wolves glanced at each other and nodded.

Adam watched in horror. His heart was almost in his throat, pounding so hard that it threatened to leap through his skin.

"No," he murmured. "Run..."

But of course, Marissa couldn't hear him.

They pulled her by her arms and she stumbled; screaming a soundless scream as she landed on the steps, facing downwards. Below her, the bags bounced away, spilling their guts on the cold, hard concrete.

And the wolves attacked.

She tried to get up, several times; each attempt more feeble than the last. But they were two and she was one; a lonely one, and no one came to help her. The whole attack lasted five minutes - Adam could see that by the time stamp in the corner of the screen. Five minutes during which he could scarcely breathe. "Do your job," he hissed, refusing to turn his face away. His sharp eyes took in every detail, just as he told them to - the blows, the knife, the cast-off - and he knew that he would not forget.

Bored at last, the two figures loped out of sight, leaving the wreckage of a life on the steps above them.

Adam slumped back into his chair and paused the feed. He was shocked to discover that his cheeks were wet.

He was even more shocked to find Danny behind him.

The two men stared at each other without a word. Finally, Danny wheeled forwards and halted beside his friend, ignoring his tear-stained face and peering at the screen instead.

"That's wicked," he growled.

Adam nodded, still mute.

"If I had my way..." Danny continued, and then cut off, almost as though he were afraid to finish the sentence - to let his words give shape and form to his fury. For a long time, there was silence. Adam could feel its weight like a stone in his chest.

"She never stood a chance," he sighed, when his voice broke free at last. "Marissa, I mean. Not from the moment they pulled her down. It was... brutal." His brain was still searching for the right way to explain what he had witnessed. "Danny - I think they're girls. At least one of them..."

"Girls commit crimes too, Adam." The gaze that Danny turned on him was bleak.

"Yes. I know that, okay; I'm not..." Adam took a breath. "I'm just telling you what I saw. _Thought _I saw..."

"Show me."

Rewinding through the attack was surreal. He tried to look unconcerned but Danny was sharp.

"Need a break? I can do this on my own," he offered.

"No." Adam's protest was urgent. "I'm good."

"Mac's not here," Danny told him quietly. "You don't have to pretend..."

"Back off, Danny!"

The angry words shot from his mouth before he could stop them. Adam recoiled, full of shame at his hard reaction. What on earth had made him lash out all of a sudden? That wasn't like him.

"I'm sorry," he said in a husky tone. "I'm not myself today."

"Forget it, okay?" Danny shrugged. "There's a lot of that goin' around."

Like a virus, Adam thought. "Here we are." He halted the feed once more and they both took a long, hard look at the shadowy figures.

"So these are the same two scumbags who attacked Conrad Valens?"

The word in Adam's head was far less charitable but he nodded. "Can't see their faces," he said, bringing up the saved footage from the first crime. "And the clothes are slightly different. But the build and the hair... They're the same, right?"

Instead of answering, Danny reached out and enlarged the head and shoulders of the taller perp, complete with those tell-tale locks of blonde hair.

"Girl?" Adam prompted.

"Well, I don't know of any self-respecting thug brave enough to stroll round lookin' like Barbie - so yeah, I'd say 'girl'. What?" he added defensively, catching sight of the gleam in Adam's eyes.

"Barbie? Really? You playing with dolls already, _Dad_?"

Danny mumbled something rude and ducked his head but couldn't hide his grin. The shared joke, lame as it was, made Adam feel much better and he smiled at his friend in return.

"Always knew I was the coolest guy in the room."

"In your dreams, you mean," Danny snorted.

"Just keep thinking that, Messer, if it makes you feel better..."

The banter was light and childish but hidden beneath was an unspoken pact between both men. Adam's strong reaction to Marissa's attack had disturbed him and he guessed that Danny felt the same way. Some feelings were intensely private and, even if they leaked out sometimes, they weren't meant for sharing. Adam knew that, once they left the room, it would be as though the whole conversation had never taken place. Only the evidence would remain.

-xx-

Work ended and Adam set off for home - but somewhere in between the crime lab and his apartment, he paused the car for a moment and then turned the wheel in a new direction. He couldn't pinpoint what made him change his mind, but he guessed that it had something to do with the footage he had seen that afternoon.

The hospital was busy. Adam darted through the crowds with haste; the steady throng of people making his head spin. To his exhausted brain, it felt as though every one of them was watching him, and he kept his eyes low. He thought he knew where Conrad's room was, but memory, it seemed, was also playing tricks on him and, after several unfortunate mistakes, the last of which led him straight into a storage closet, Adam knew that he would be forced to seek help.

The little nurse that he approached seemed to take an instant shine to him. "You family?" she asked, as she trotted beside him, determined to lead him there herself.

"Ah... no."

"Friend, then." She nodded, happy with her own interpretation. Adam chose not to correct her. He wasn't entirely sure that Mac would approve of his unsanctioned visit - though perhaps he would understand the need behind it.

The nurse left him outside Conrad's door and hurried back to her station, though not without one last glance over her shoulder. Adam nodded back and then peered through the window, suddenly confused.

What _was _he doing here? Did he think that Conrad would welcome his intrusion?

"Hi there," he muttered. "Remember me? I'm the one who took those embarrassing photos... bet you were hoping to see _me_ again, right?" The laugh that followed was nervous and loud enough for Conrad to hear it, even through the closed door. He opened his one good eye and stared directly at Adam.

Resisting the urge to duck, Adam offered him an uncertain smile. No going back, then. He turned the handle and the door swung open.

"Who's there?" Conrad asked warily.

_Dammit,_ Adam thought, recalling the glasses from his ill-fated printing session. The boy was short-sighted. He hadn't seen Adam at all...

"Um... Adam Ross. From yesterday? I came with Lindsay..?" _Great explanation, _he chided himself, but Conrad gave a stiff nod of recognition.

"Wha' d' you need?" he asked, his battered mouth still struggling to release the words.

"Oh! Sorry, no - I didn't come for... I just wanted to see how you were. You know, if there was something I could do." Difficult to explain to the boy, when he couldn't explain it to himself. "Can I sit down?"

The lop-sided shrug made him wince.

Perching on the edge of a plastic chair, he studied a cluster of old scars on his right hand for a moment and then raised his head. "Thing is, I know what it's like," he said earnestly. "Lying in bed while the world moves around you. Feeling so wrong that you don't think you'll ever be free of it."

Conrad froze.

"You do...?" he whispered.

Adam nodded. Sensing that there was more to come, he kept silent, waiting.

"I'm afrai' to sleep," Conrad admitted. "They gi' me drugs, but I don' wan' them. I don' wan' to close my eyes..."

"Because of the monsters." Adam held his gaze with growing confidence. "Sometimes they're out there, it's true. But sometimes, you know, it's just dreams. And dreams can be kind as well." An image popped into his head; Elma shaking with fear. He pushed it away. "You need to sleep, Conrad, okay? Your brain wants to deal with what happened to you. The sooner it does that, the sooner you'll heal."

A gruff voice spoke from the doorway. "That's what I've been trying to tell him."

"Oh! I'm sorry, sir." Adam lurched to his feet.

"What for?" the old man said, peering across the room. He was short, with bandy legs and far more wrinkles than Adam had ever seen before on one person's face.

"Taking your seat. Intruding..."

"You came to visit my grandson. Good for you. No apology needed. I _will_ take that chair, though..." He shuffled towards Adam, who hopped aside politely. "Nice to see that Conrad has _some_ friends. I was beginning to wonder."

"I'm not..."

"This is Ada'," Conrad intervened, much to his surprise.

The old man held out his hand as he reached the seat. Adam shook it gravely. "Gerald Valens."

"Adam Ross." He risked a glance at the boy in the bed, whose one good eye was begging him to play along. With a flash of insight, he saw the full extent of Conrad's loneliness.

Gerald settled his bones. "Go on then, Adam Ross," he instructed.

"Go on?"

"With your good advice. Tell my grandson what he needs to hear. He won't take it from _me._"

"Gra'pa," Conrad sighed.

Stuck in the middle of what appeared to be a family disagreement, Adam felt distinctly out of place. Now he knewfor certain that he shouldn't have come.

Gerald nudged him in the leg, making him jump. "Go _on_, young man."

Moving closer to the bed, Adam faltered. "Do you... Would it help to talk about what happened? You don't have to," he added hastily.

Conrad tried to turn his head away but the movement was too painful. Instead, he closed his eye. "No."

"No, it wouldn't help?"

"No, I can't." A tremor shook him like an aftershock. "It's not there, Ada'. Tha's why I fee' so scared. No faces. How wi' I know...?"

"...if you see them again," Adam finished. He felt a twinge of guilt. Right there in his mind's eye was the image of Conrad's attackers. And yet, if he mentioned what he knew - if he spoke a single word about it... The image changed, and Mac's face glared at him. "We'll get them, Conrad," he said softly, leaning in. "I promise."

"What do you mean?" said a sharp voice behind him. Adam froze. That would teach him not to make assumptions. Conrad's grandfather had perfect hearing? Not the most welcome surprise of the day.

"Um - pardon?" he mumbled, stalling for time.

"You know what I said, boy. 'We'. Who's 'we'? You a cop? You don't look like one." The wrinkled old man had turned into a rottweiler.

"Gra'pa," Conrad said faintly, but Gerald, it seemed, was relentless.

"This some kind of interview? Did you get in here under false pretences? Don't you tell me any more lies, Adam Ross - if that's even your name."

For one uncomfortable moment, Adam wondered if he really could - or should - bluff his way out. Assume another name and make his escape. But an honest man makes a terrible liar and he knew beyond all doubt that he could never let himself down that way.

"Yes," he said quietly. "My name _is_ Adam Ross. I work at the New York Crime Lab. Call my boss, if you don't believe me, okay? His name is Detective Mac Taylor. I was here yesterday with my colleague and ever since then... well, I couldn't stop thinking about your grandson. I came here to see how he was; that's all. I'm sorry if I caused offence. I'll leave now."

Dropping his eyes, he headed for the door, feeling strangely dignified in retreat. He _hadn't_ done anything wrong - had he?

Of course, mentioning Mac's name had probably been a mistake...

Behind him, there was nothing but silence. Maybe he really had stolen the last word, for once in his life. As the door swung shut on the awkward scene, Adam risked a glance through the tiny window - and paused. Gerald had moved to the bed and was leaning over his grandson, hands trembling as they tried to find an unbroken, unbruised place to touch the boy's face.

A sudden wave of sadness washed over Adam, violent and cold. Turning away, he trudged back down the corridor and out of the hospital.

Time to go home.

-xx-

**(Disclaimer: I don't own Skittles. But now I want some...)**

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed and favourited after the last chapter. Your support means so much! I sympathise with anyone who can relate to Adam and the hiccups. And I **_**loved**_** the strong reactions to Richard - they really made me smile. More from that charming fellow later on in the story, and I don't think you'll like him any better for it... In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for reading.**

**And thank you, as always, to Lily Moonlight and 1917farmgirl, who are always full of advice and enthusiasm.**


	8. Chapter 8

**OUT THERE**

**A/N: To celebrate the fact that season 9 is finally coming to the UK - an extra update!**

**-xx-**

**Chapter Eight**

_**"You never know. Maybe when we're dreaming... we're more lucid than when we are awake." (Katherine Angela Yeboah)**_

The street was dark. A warm breeze followed Adam, carrying with it the breath of the city - and something more. He knew the scent of fear. It had stalked him throughout his life, a vigilant shadow that would not fall away, no matter how hard he tried to escape it. His stride quickened and he hunched his shoulders, desperate to look back but knowing all too well that, if he did so, he would be lost.

_I have to get home._

Home was a place of safety. _Not true_, said the boy who suddenly walked beside him. Adam's reply was gentle. "_My _home," he said. "Not yours. There are no monsters there." The boy stared back at him, wide-eyed, before slipping away down a nearby alley. Adam halted.

"Wait. Not that way," he whispered urgently. That way led to pain...

And now the fear was tangible; a probing touch that sent prickles chasing up and down his skin.

"Stop..."

He left the street and set off down the alley. The fear was right behind him. Footsteps, echoing twice where, before, there had been no footsteps. Ahead of him, the boy had disappeared. On either side, the walls closed in, tall and black. Adam felt as though he were being swallowed alive. As the ground dropped away, he teetered on the edge of a chasm - no, a stairway; endless in the dark.

_I don't want to..._

The boy hadn't gone. The boy was inside him - and he was afraid...

"Did you think that I wouldn't come here, Adam?" said a bright voice in his ear; too bright and far too cheerful.

"Go away," he whispered, without any hope at all. "Why can't you just go?"

Unable to bear it any longer, Adam turned at last. He saw a glimpse of long blonde hair... a dark hood... before a heavy blow to the face sent him crashing to the ground.

"I told you," Haylen said, looming over him. Richard lurked behind her, sniggering. "I never give up."

Her smile was the last thing he saw before darkness took him - and he woke to find himself lying on the floor beside his couch. That was a shock in itself, but even more alarming was the pain that flared beneath his eye a second later.

Could pain cross over? Could the imagined become real after all? Was Dream-Haylen taking her revenge for the railway tracks?

He prodded at the tender bruise experimentally, before lifting himself off the floor with the aid of the nearby coffee table...

Oh!

Turning, he glared at the angular piece of furniture. "See what you did?" he told it, wincing as he poked at his cheek yet again. "How am I going to explain _this _at work without sounding ridiculous...?

Full of morbid curiosity, he headed for the bathroom and turned on the light. He was not prepared for what he saw staring back from the looking-glass world before him. Surely that couldn't be him - that pallid stranger? Dark-eyed and drawn, with a mark the size of a man's fist across his face? "What's wrong with me?" he murmured, watching the stranger mouth his words. Even as he spoke, he felt the ugly thought take root deep inside. What if there really _was_ something wrong with him? Had he taken so little care of himself that his defenceless body was under attack?

"It's all your fault," he snapped at that other Adam, safe behind the glass. Leaning forwards, his voice sank to a whisper. "Can I swap places with you? I'm so tired..."

Talking to the furniture - and now to his own reflection. Wasn't that the first sign of madness? Sighing wearily, he ran the cold water, cupping it in his hands and dashing it over his face. Then he studied himself in the mirror again, as the droplets rained from his beard all over the sink, his clothes, the floor...

"Adam the Zombie," he muttered, seeking humour where there was none. "Not a good look."

Shaking his head, he could only imagine what Danny and his other friends would say when they saw him...

-xx-

"Adam - buddy! Tell me the other guy looks worse than you. Or - wait, don't tell me - date gone bad? 'Cause I've been there, man, and I recognise the signs." He gestured to the bruise on Adam's cheek.

"Oh, ha ha ha. Is that the best you've got?" Adam frowned as he leaned on the heavy glass door and let Danny pass into the building.

"I thought that was pretty good for a first attempt. Give me time - I'll get better."

"Please don't." His response was abrupt and Danny faltered.

"Sorry, Adam. I just thought..."

"No you didn't, okay? You're not thinking at all..." Adam marched ahead through the lobby, leaving Danny to spin his wheels in violent haste as he strove to catch up and make amends.

"Go on, then," he urged. "What really happened? You got some kind of trouble goin' on? 'Cause I could help you with that." And then, much softer, "You do know I was only tryin' to make you crack a smile, right? You look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders."

Guilt flashed through Adam and he halted. "Sure, Danny, I know. It's my fault, okay? I shouldn't have jumped down your throat; that wasn't fair. I'm fine - and there's no trouble." He bared his teeth in a tentative grin and hoped that it was convincing enough to make Danny back off. To his relief, it _seemed _to do the trick...

One down. A whole labful of jokers to go.

The elevator was working today - and packed like a can of sardines. Overwhelmed by strangers, the two men rode up in silence but, just before the doors opened onto the crime lab, Danny offered one last muttered comment, for Adam's ears only. "I'm not buyin' the act. You can't fool the master. But I'll let it drop if you want me to - for now..."

And he rolled away, leaving Adam standing in the middle of the corridor, alone and uncertain.

Just as he was about to turn and head to the locker room, Mac's voice cut into his thoughts. "Adam. A word?" His face was pleasant but there was an edge to his words that Adam knew all too well. Not a friendly morning chat, then. One raised eyebrow was the only clue that Mac had seen the unfortunate state of his face. No surprise there. The boss-man noticed everything.

Stepping through the doorway for the second time in as many days, Adam glanced at the couch with longing - but this time, Mac gestured to the chair. Not good. He placed the desk between them like a barrier as they both sat down. Adam stared at him in silence, waiting for the blow to fall.

"I had a phone call this morning," Mac said, tilting his head. "Can you guess what it was about?"

"Um - yes." Adam's throat was dry. "I'm sorry, Mac. I was going to tell you..."

"Sorry?"

"For causing trouble. And, you know, for getting involved..."

"The phone call I had," Mac continued, holding his gaze, "was from Gerald Valens. You've met, I believe? Apparently, he wanted to congratulate me on the quality of my team. 'Their commitment to the victim' - those were his exact words."

Adam felt his jaw drop and was powerless to stop it. Mac went on. "You can imagine my surprise. I thanked him, of course, and asked him who it was that he was talking about. Adam Ross, he said. The young man who visited his grandson at the hospital last night."

By this point, Adam was struggling to follow the turn that things had taken. He flushed with hope and found his voice again.

"Wait, boss... I don't get it. Am I... Are you mad at me or not?"

"The truth?" Mac said. "I should be, Adam. You know the dangers of getting too close. You're a scientist, not a social worker."

"But?" Adam asked him warily. _Was_ there a 'but'?

"But," Mac sighed. "I can't condemn a man for showing compassion. I _can_ take him off the Valens case, before he makes a mistake that he can't wriggle out of. Where did you get that bruise, by the way?"

The careful timing of his remark was so unexpected that Adam blurted out the truth at once. "I fell."

"You fell."

"Off the couch. When I was... well, I was _trying _to sleep, like you said." Unbidden, the image of Dream-Haylen, hooded and smirking, leapt into his mind and he flinched. Mac caught the strange reaction and frowned at him. Standing up, he walked around the desk and peered even more closely at Adam's face before delivering his final verdict.

"Go home."

"Oh - no! I'm fi... there's no need, boss." Déjà vu was starting to make his head spin.

"That's not a suggestion; it's an order." Mac was adamant. Adam's feeble protest died in his throat. At the same time, behind Mac, Haylen sailed past the window, waving her arms as she spun some kind of animated tale for Lindsay and Hawkes, who appeared to be enthralled. The vision was fleeting - but it had a powerful effect on Adam. He turned back to his boss.

"Please," he begged. "Don't send me home. I want to work."

Mac shook his head. "I'm sorry - my mind's made up. Look at the state of you, Adam. If I let you stay, you'll be a danger to yourself and everyone else in this lab. Not to mention the fact that I won't be able to trust you to do your job to the best of your ability. Learn from yesterday. You know I'm right." His voice was rough, but kind. "I'll say it one more time - go home. Get the sleep that you need. Come back tomorrow, when... _if_ you're fit. That's not weakness; it's common sense."

"Yes, boss," he mumbled, pushing up from the chair in one unhappy movement and lurching towards the door as quickly as he could, desperate to get out of there before he shamed himself any further. Even now, he could feel hot tears pricking behind his eyes and tried to blink them away surreptitiously. At the same time, a single word from Mac stopped him in his tracks.

"Wait."

"What is it, boss?" He kept his face to the door so that Mac couldn't see his bleak expression.

"Are you safe to drive home by yourself?"

"No, I'm not," he admitted softly, looking back at last. "I know that, okay? I took the subway to work this morning." He kept silent about the part where he had almost drifted off to sleep and gone sailing past his stop...

"I see." Was that relief on Mac's face? "Good decision. That's settled then," he added, dismissing him properly with a nod. "We'll find someone to give you a lift." When Adam began to protest, he held up his hand. "No more arguments..."

_No point,_ Adam thought, weary in defeat.

-xx-

'Someone' turned out to be Stella, of all people. Adam felt quite embarrassed as he followed her to the Avalanche. To his great relief, however, she never uttered a single word about his bruise or the pallor of his face - or even the fact that Mac had sent him home. She simply smiled at him; a genuine smile that filled her eyes with warmth and sent a spark to kindle him from within.

_You're not in disgrace,_ he told himself firmly, tagging along in her wake. The boss-man was just looking out for him. They all were; Danny, Stella - all of his friends. He was lucky to have them.

_Yes - and don't worry about your work,_ the beaming image of Haylen told him. _I'll get it done for you..._

The spark died away and he shivered.

"Cold?" Stella asked him, unlocking the doors. He shrugged non-committally. Like Mac, he was growing heartily sick of the phrase 'I'm fine', and how often he felt compelled to use it. Besides, his charade was a failure. They had seen through his mask and now they had sent him away...

_Stop it,_ he told himself crossly. Wallowing never helped anyone.

"Lucky for you that my crime scene is near your apartment," Stella said, trying to keep up a cheerful flow of conversation. "You could have waited all day for a lift; the lab's so busy..." She paused, as she realised the hidden implication of her remark. "I mean..."

"It's okay, Stella." Adam stared ahead through the windshield. "Mac's right. I wouldn't have been much use anyway. Sorry," he added, turning to smile at her. "Bad time to get sick, I guess."

"I know." She looked at him sideways. "Is there anything you need?"

"No," he lied, thinking of his barren fridge. "I'm okay."

"I could swing by with some chicken noodle later..." Adam could tell from her face that she wasn't entirely joking.

"Everyone's got this sudden urge to feed me," he grinned. "Stella, you said it yourself - you guys are busy. Just drop me as close to home as you can manage. I think I can take it from there..."

The rest of the journey passed in comfortable silence. Adam closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. In Stella's company, he always felt safe somehow. If he slept at all, it was a dreamless sleep, for which he was grateful. Time shifted and blurred around him to the soundtrack of the engine's quiet hum. When the car stopped, he couldn't be sure at first whether minutes had passed, or hours.

"We're here," Stella said, her hand on his arm.

"What...? Oh! That's great." Suddenly, strangely, he felt reluctant to leave the warmth of the Avalanche - but Stella was sneaking a glance at the clock on the dashboard and he knew that his time was up. Peering out of the window, he saw that she had brought him right to the door of his apartment block. "Thank you, Stella," he said quietly. "For the lift, and... you know..." Putting his thoughts into words was harder than usual these days; like swimming upstream. "See you tomorrow."

"Get some rest," she replied, as he slipped out of the car and paused on the sidewalk to watch her pull away.

"Yes, mom," he answered, with a cheeky grin that he held in place until he was sure that she had gone.

Feeling slightly out of sync with the rest of the world by now, he climbed up the steps to the front door and pushed his way into the lobby. There was a large wad of junk mail in his slot, so he took it out and rifled through it as he waited for the elevator, making sure that there was nothing more personal sandwiched in between the wild promotional offers and unwanted catalogues. No bills, thank goodness - but there _was _an unexpected envelope; small and white, with nothing but his name scrawled on the front in bold green writing. "Okay..." he muttered, stuffing the junk mail into his bag and tugging at the envelope with clumsy fingers.

The letter was from Jade. That fact alone made him pause. The elevator came and went as he scanned its contents nervously.

_Adam._

_Kevin doesn't remember much about last night but I do, and I know that I upset you. You let a stranger into your home and, in return, I was rude and thoughtless. I'm sending you this note as an apology, since my useless cousin wouldn't give me your number. I thought I might catch you in, but I guess you're at work. Maybe I'll see you later?_

_Jade._

At first glance, the letter was pleasant enough - an attempt to clear the air between them. So why did it make him feel uncomfortable? "I really am getting paranoid," he told himself - but the words had a hollow ring to them.

Pressing the button again, he brought the elevator back and headed up to his floor. Someone had opened the window at the far end of the corridor, releasing the stale smells and letting in a breeze. Adam shivered and pulled his jacket tighter. He had just passed Elma's door and was reaching for his keys when he heard a sound that made him stop in his tracks, his heart beating rapidly.

_Crash!_

A terrible, rolling crash, followed by a frightened shriek - and then nothing at all.

The sound came from Elma's apartment.


	9. Chapter 9

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Nine**

_**"I want you to be concerned about your next door neighbour. Do you know your next door neighbour?" (Mother Teresa of Calcutta)**_

Adam tried the door but it was locked. He called out but there was no reply. The whole world seemed to have fallen into silence.

His keys were in his shaking hand, so he darted along to his own apartment and fumbled his way in as quickly as he could, tossing bag, coat and letter aside as he snatched the borrowed set from their hook and hurried back to Elma's door.

"It's Adam," he called out. "I'm here." His imagination was running wild by now, picturing every conceivable thing from masked intruders to a fallen ceiling - and all at once, he was very, very grateful that Mac had sent him home from work.

As the door swung open, Adam peered in cautiously. He liked to think that he was as brave as the next man (always assuming that the next man wasn't Detective Flack or his boss) but he really hoped that he _wasn't _walking into some kind of home invasion, unarmed and unprepared. Pulling Elma's keys from the lock, he poked them between his fingers and clenched his fist; the best weapon that he could manage under the circumstances.

To his amazement, the first thing that he saw was Elma, sitting in her chair, wide-eyed and looking as startled as he felt. She was wrapped in a blanket and a dream-like air still clung to her, as though she had wakened abruptly. Seeing Adam, she gasped and drew back.

"I'm sorry," he said, unsettled. "It's me - it's just Adam. Are you.. are you okay?"

"Help me," she whispered. "There's somebody in here."

He nodded. Moving through the room, he motioned her to silence, listening carefully for any clue to the intruder's location. As he edged towards the bedroom door, which was closed, he heard the sound of heavy breathing, punctuated by the occasional gasp of frustration and a peculiar slithering noise.

Adam's heart thumped painfully in his chest. Behind him, Elma had risen from her chair and was started to hobble towards him. _No,_ he mouthed, full of concern for her safety, but she kept on coming. Now he knew that he had to act, before she reached him. Stepping forwards, he swallowed his fear and reached for the handle...

"I'm _so_ embarrassed," wailed a familiar voice, as the room was revealed in all its chaos.

Elma reached Adam's shoulder. "Beth-Anne," she cried. "What happened? What are you doing here?"

The girl looked up from the floor, where she lay beneath a shifting pile of books and an overturned bookcase. "I bin here for ages," she said, confusion mingling with the pain and discomfort on her face. "I let myself in. You were sleepin' in the chair, so I thought I'd clean the bedroom... Please get me up," she added woefully.

Her plea broke the spell that seemed to have fallen over Adam. Feeling guilty, he leapt to her aid; crouching down beside her as he took stock of the situation. "Are you hurt?" he asked her gently.

"I guess so. Everything's fallen on top of me - and these books, they're harder than they look. Plus my arm's kinda stuck. Hey!" She regarded him with suspicion. "It's you. The psychic guy. What happened to your face?"

Adam winced and shook his head. "I'm not psychic. I told you that, remember? I'm Elma's neighbour, that's all."

"You can trust him, Beth-Anne," Elma said as she shuffled closer. "He's a policeman."

"I'm not that either..." Adam began to explain and then tailed off, as he saw their confusion. "Okay, look, this isn't the time," he told the girl. "I'm going to move the bookcase now. If something hurts, you tell me. You can even yell out loud if you want to - we don't mind. Right?"

"Of course," Elma nodded. Adam could tell by the way her fingers twisted around the knob of her stick that she yearned to help, in spite of her wasted limbs. "Beth-Anne, you silly goose; I thought you were an intruder. What on earth were you trying to do?"

Beth-Anne's face was a picture. "You thought I wanted to _steal _from you?" She shook her head violently. Taking advantage of Elma's distraction, Adam squared his shoulders and tried to raise the bookshelf. To his surprise, it wasn't all that heavy - not with its contents dumped all over the floor. Clearly shock, not wood, had pinned the young girl down. He swung the shelf higher and settled it back into place.

"Thank you," Beth-Anne squeaked, as she rose from the mound of books like a mole from a mole hill, blinking and biting her lip. "Ow!"

"Bruises?" Adam said with empathy.

"_Ev-er-y_where." She stood in the centre of the mess, forlorn and helpless. Reaching out, he took her good arm and steadied her so that she could leap across to the clear patch of carpet where Elma was standing. "_Ow!_" she said again, louder this time, as she landed awkwardly and wobbled, falling back against his shoulder. He caught her - just - and sighed with relief. She smelled faintly of citrus and furniture polish. She was also far more solid than she looked. "I want to sit down," she told him in a small voice. "My wrist hurts."

Adam put his arm around her and steered her carefully out of the bedroom, followed by Elma. "Tea," the old lady said, shuffling towards the kitchen, and he allowed himself a tiny smile. The answer to everything, it seemed.

He settled Beth-Anne clumsily on the couch but when he tried to look at her wrist, she covered it primly. "Want some ice for that?" he offered. "A bag of frozen peas...?"

She giggled and he shrugged. "It works," he said defensively. "Don't knock it till you've tried. I'm a scientist, okay? I know what I'm talking about."

"I thought Elma said you were a cop."

"I..." Adam paused and closed his eyes. Really, what was the point? He was so tired of explaining himself. "Close enough." He perched on the edge of the couch and sighed.

"Don't be sad." The girl's voice grew soft. "You're a nice man, Adam."

Her words, unexpected as they were, touched his heart and made a lump rise in his throat. Adam swallowed. "Thank you," he said huskily, just as Elma hobbled into the room, leaning on the rail of a sturdy little tea-trolley laden with goodies. Leaping up, he went to help her but she waved him away, pale and independent. He grinned, and went in search of ice instead.

Opening the freezer, the first thing that he saw was a bag of peas. Unable to resist, he fished them out and wrapped them in a flowery tea towel. Carrying his icy bundle back, he laid it carefully on Beth-Anne's tender wrist. She squealed, and then sighed with relief.

Elma handed him a cup of milky tea and he sank into a nearby armchair, feeling it settle around him like a hug.

"Drink up," Elma said kindly. "Then you can take Beth-Anne to the hospital."

He nodded - but the girl's mouth fell open in horror.

"No way," she protested. "Doctors are creepy. It's just a bruise, okay; don't get no big ideas..." Turning to Adam, she pointed. "_He's_ got a bruise, and he didn't go to no hospital - tell me I'm right."

"Oh! Yes - I mean, no," he said warily. Elma was staring directly at him by now, as though she had only just noticed the state of his face. "I didn't; you're right. But look, Beth-Anne, all I did was fall against a table. You dropped a _bookcase_ on your arm. There's a difference."

"A table?" Elma repeated. Her face was troubled.

Beth-Anne folded her arms and stuck out her jaw; the very picture of defiance. "Not going," she insisted.

Adam took advantage of the heavy pause that followed to sip at his tea. It stung his throat on the way down, but the act of drinking saved him from answering Elma's question. For a while, there was silence and the atmosphere in the room began to feel uncomfortable. "At least I can pick up the books," he offered finally, trying to put things right again. "Call it a 'thank you' for that awesome cake."

"Did you like it?" Elma's eyes lit up, and he sighed with relief. At last, an easy topic.

"Best cake I ever tasted. That jam... and the sugar... amazing! I couldn't stop eating it," he confessed with a sheepish expression. "There's only one slice left - and that's because I made myself save it for a treat after work." After work. What a joke...

Elma beamed with pride. "You've been so kind, looking after me," she said. "I had to do something."

"No, you didn't." He stared at the old lady with a sudden surge of affection. "Neighbours help, okay? That's how it is."

"Not always," Beth-Anne murmured, reminding them of her presence. "Mine are rude and noisy. Plus, they smell."

Adam snorted. He couldn't help himself - but he felt a twinge of regret when he saw Beth-Anne's face. "She made you a cake?" the girl continued.

"Beth-Anne," Elma told her firmly, "I baked cookies for you all the time until you went on that ridiculous diet of yours. No need to be jealous."

"Sorry." The apology was grudging. Beth-Anne's green eyes lingered on Adam's face, making him feel quite uncomfortable.

Draining the rest of his tea, he rose from his seat and headed into the bedroom. As he began to collect the scattered books and slide them onto the shelves, the rhythm of his actions left his mind free to wander unchecked. In the last few days, he had begun to feel as though he were trapped in some kind of nightmare. The more he tried to make sense of it all, the more his memories turned to smoke and drifted away. Adam knew that he was capable of some stupid - okay, _really_ stupid moves, but his job meant everything to him. Losing it would break his heart; and he swore, right then and there, that he would never let that happen. Time to pull up his socks. Time to get some proper sleep...

"Penny for your thoughts."

He looked up and smiled at Elma, who was standing in the doorway. "Almost done. Don't know if you had them in any kind of order, so I went for size and colour..."

"Aesthetics - I like it. But you didn't answer my question."

Elma and Mac should get together, his tired brain decided as she shuffled closer. They'd make a great team. Bad guys would crumble before them. "Oh... my thoughts. Right. Well, I was just thinking that - if you're okay now - I should go home. You _are_ okay..?" He peered at her white face.

"I'm fine, Adam. I had a shock, that's all."

"Me too," he agreed. "That was some crash."

She sighed. "My whole life is in this apartment. Sometimes, when I'm all alone, it frightens me. Such a small world. So easy to destroy."

The pang in her voice found an echo inside him. Life could overwhelm you if you stopped to think about it. "You're not alone," he told her firmly. "You've got me, alright, and Beth-Anne too."

"Beth-Anne." Elma's face brightened. "Silly girl. I convinced her to ring her brother, at least. He's coming to fetch her."

_Oh, thank goodness, _Adam thought. It was selfish of him, but he really couldn't face another trip to the hospital right now. "Done," he said, shoving the last book into place and leaning back on his heels with a satisfied expression.

She laid a grateful hand on his shoulder. It was shaking with exhaustion.

"Come on," he told her, rising to his feet. "Let's get you settled before I go..." And he led her back to her armchair, followed all the way by a pair of watchful eyes.

-xx-

Reaching his own apartment at last, Adam avoided the couch with a shudder and dropped, fully clothed, on top of his bed. That was the last thing he remembered for quite some time. Lost in a lead-heavy sleep, full of twisted dreams, he lay without moving as the day rolled on around him. When he did lift his head from the pillow, hours later, it was with some difficulty. "Wha...?" he mumbled, trying to sit up. Something had caused him to stir - not a noise this time, but a gnawing, empty feeling in his stomach.

He pushed upwards. Moments later, the room settled around him as his equilibrium returned. Hunger could make you feel sick, right? Easing himself off the bed, he padded through to the kitchen.

Elma's tin sat on the table, yet he couldn't bring himself to eat the last piece of cake. His stomach was begging for something savoury and the thought of jam and sugar had suddenly, violently, lost its appeal. Clearly, he had overdosed on sweetness lately. He opened the fridge and groaned. It was even worse than he had remembered. Two shrivelled tomatoes stared back at him, alongside a carton of milk so far out of date that it was probably cheese by now. His cupboards were almost as bad. Dry cereal, mouldy bread. Some ancient spaghetti. "Well," he said, out loud, "guess I've got two choices. Crackers with peanut butter and mustard - killer combo - or a trip to the store."

No contest.

With a deep sigh of resignation, Adam headed out of the kitchen - only to find that his front door was standing wide open.

He stopped and stared. Truth be told, he didn't know which fear was worse - that he had left it open himself and couldn't remember, or that someone had actually broken in as he lay fast asleep. Peering at the lock, he saw that it was still intact. His keys were hanging neatly on their hook beside Elma's spare set. His bag, coat and letter were on the floor where he had abandoned them earlier. The rest of the living area was a wreck but it had been like that since Jade and Kevin's visit. "My fault, then," he realised. Thank goodness no one had taken advantage of his dreadful mistake. They could have cleaned him out in seconds. Or even worse... He turned his mind away from the image of what could have happened to _him_.

He picked up his wallet, cell phone and keys, then stepped out into the corridor, pulling the door shut with a bang that would be memorable, and testing several times that it was locked before he dared to leave it.

The nearest store was a tiny bodega known as Corner Joe's, because of its angular situation and the friendly owner who liked to perch on a stool outside and watch the world go by. Today was sunny and Joe was in his usual place, long nose twitching as though he were sniffing for customers. He tracked Adam's progress towards the store, then gave a nod of satisfaction before slipping down to follow him inside.

The narrow aisles were claustrophobic. Glancing up at the convex mirror overhead, Adam saw that Joe was using it to study his progress. The discovery made him feel quite uncomfortable. He grabbed a random selection of groceries - milk, bread, fruit (that was healthy, right?) - and hurried to the front of the store. On the way, he passed a stand of flowers. They were beginning to wilt already but their colours were cheerful. Adam thought of Elma and gave a tiny smile. Why not?

"I'll take these as well," he said, pulling out a bunch of chrysanthemums, the perkiest flowers on offer.

"Girlfriend?" Corner Joe quipped.

"Neighbour," Adam said firmly, dropping his money into the gnarled and eager hand.

As he left the store, another customer entered, keeping Joe inside. Adam set off back to his apartment. Sweat was trickling down his back by now and the afternoon heat was making his head spin. He tucked the chrysanthemums under his arm and tried not to mangle them too much.

A man brushed past him, arrogant in his haste, making Adam stumble. He called out, but the figure was already striding away and did not turn to offer any kind of apology.

As he carried on down the street, he could have sworn that there was an echo of footsteps behind him. He paused - and the echo paused as well. Looking back, he saw only Joe's empty stool in the distance. At this time of day, and in this heat, the neighbourhood was quiet. He shrugged and carried on. "Stupid, Adam," he grumbled, feeling quite cross with himself by now. "You really think you're so important that the whole world is watching you?"

And then, from out of nowhere, he was yanked through an open gateway.

Struggling to keep his balance, Adam tried to call out - just as a clammy hand wrapped itself around his mouth, turning his yell into a muffled squawk that died in his throat, almost choking him. With the back of his head pinned tightly against the stranger's shoulder, there was no way to see who held him. His flowers, the shopping, his wallet - everything fell to the ground as he bucked and heaved in his attacker's unyielding arms. He scuffed at the dirt with his heels, trying to find a purchase, but all that he managed to do was lose his balance altogether. The next thing he knew, he was face-down on the ground, feeling worse than dizzy, with the stranger's knee planted firmly in the small of his back. A new sound caught his ear, soft and deadly; a knife unfolding, followed by a whisper.

"Where shall we start?"


	10. Chapter 10

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Ten**

_**"It's just that no one wants to be the one being rescued, we all want to do the rescuing." (Steve Brust, 'Iorich')**_

"What d'you mean?"

The second voice was also a whisper but, this time, Adam could tell that the speaker was a girl. And now he was truly afraid - because he knew. He knew who they were; and by some wretched twist of fate, they had chosen _him_ for their next victim. How could that possibly be? Such a wild coincidence... or was it?

Curiosity battled with fear and won as he tried to roll over and catch a glimpse of their faces. Before he was able to do so, however, the sharp blade leapt to his throat and he froze.

"Please don't..." he breathed, ashamed of his cowardice even as he spoke the useless words.

"Let's cut out his pretty blue eyes," the first voice said quietly, right beside his ear.

"Can't we just knock him unconscious and leave him here?"

The girl was squeamish, then; a brief moment of hope for Adam that died away as the knife moved slowly along his cheek. He closed his eyes - as if _that_ could stop them, he thought in despair. Biting back a scream, he wished with all his heart for Mac, or Danny, or _someone_ to come to his rescue. But his friends were miles away, oblivious. He was all alone - and now he imagined them watching the footage of _his _murder, looking for evidence... oh God; and Sid...

The vision of his own autopsy was horrific. Adam clenched his teeth and summoned his courage. His left hand grabbed at the stranger's fingers, trying to dislodge the knife. At the same time, he kicked out wildly behind him - but the girl hopped away, squealing.

"Shut up," hissed her partner. "Leave it to me. I've got him, okay?"

The knee lifted. Adam took a grateful breath - just in time, as the first attacker sat down heavily on his back and twisted his left arm up behind him until he had no choice but to cry out in pain. It felt as though the muscles in his shoulder were being torn apart. The feeling was all too familiar. Deep inside Adam, a small boy was screaming as well...

He rolled with the stranger's grip, trying to ease the pain by turning into it, but a cruel hand slammed his head back down, filling his mouth with dirt. Waves of pain flared out from the bruise across his cheek and the world around him fractured.

... coldness, as the fabric of his shirt was slashed...

... a weight that crushed him and the scent of chemicals mixed with sweat...

... the hand of Death at his shoulder...

_Nightmare,_ he thought, with sudden clarity. He was back in his nightmare. Any moment now, Dream-Haylen would appear, looming over him, and he would wake up at last - because no one ever really died in a dream. Did they?

The knife lingered next to his skin, tracing feathery circles on his shoulder blade. And then came a pain so bright that he simply could not stand it. Colours swam before his eyes, overwhelming him with their intensity; red, white... black. _Not colour - absence,_ his brain insisted, as the world around him disappeared. The absence of anything...

-xx-

For a while, he drifted, leaving his body to take the punishment alone. His mind had found its way to a place of safety, long abandoned; a level of consciousness that felt no pain and did not see what was happening around him. The last time he had fled there, it had been Danny who brought him back to himself by the simple act of stepping into a warehouse and calling his name...

"Adam."

Two worlds collided and merged. Hope moved through him like a good spirit, pulling his ragged thoughts together and making him whole again.

"Danny...?" he croaked.

The answering laugh was unexpected and slightly breathless. "'Fraid not. He a friend of yours? I can call him if you like."

Adam frowned in confusion. The voice was familiar - a girl, for certain - but he couldn't seem to attach a name to it. _Then you'll have to open your eyes,_ his brain insisted. Easy to agree; much harder to obey.

He lifted his head from the ground, ignoring the swell of nausea that accompanied this simple action. Far more disturbing was the line of fiery heat across his shoulder, and the slick, wet feeling of the shirt that clung to him in shreds.

"Be careful," his new friend advised. "That looks bad."

What did? What had they done? And how... oh God, _how_ had he come to survive?

Adam cracked his eyes open, one lid at a time. His vision was blurry at first. A pale face swam before him, framed by a mass of long fair hair. He drew back in sudden fear.

"Hey!" The girl was startled and held up her hands in a sign of peace. "Don't you know me?"

The fog cleared - and all at once, he did.

"Jade?" he ventured. She sighed with relief.

"Oh, thank God; you're in there after all. Guess you're tougher than you look - right, Adam Ross?"

"Guess so." His voice was low and it shook as he tried to continue. "What...? Don't take this the wrong way, okay, but what...?"

"...am I doing here?" Jade gave a sly grin. "Maybe I was stalking you."

Once more he blanched - and she shook her head, grinning. "Joke. You got my letter, right? I came round to see if you were home from work, that's all. Good job, too."

"Then how...?" His brain refused to form a proper sentence, leaving him open-mouthed and floundering.

"Martial arts," she said, much to his bewilderment. "I dabble. First time it's ever come in handy, though."

He didn't really follow her explanation but he knew enough to thank her, and she smiled again. Reaching out, she helped him into a sitting position, avoiding his injured shoulder and taking his arms instead. Adam hissed at the contact. Jade's dark eyes looked sympathetic. "You need help," she said firmly. "Who can I call? 911? Kevin? Your crime lab...?"

Adam shook his head. He felt so ashamed. Bad enough that Jade had seen his weakness, never mind his colleagues or her cousin. Still, he knew that she was right. With trembling fingers, he felt in his pocket and found to his amazement that his cell phone was still there. An unexpected name had popped into his head - not a close friend, but someone that he trusted beyond all doubt - and he searched for the contact, pressing the key and waiting as the dial tone sounded. Jade watched him, full of curiosity.

"Yes?" The greeting was short and slightly terse, as though the man on the other end was in a hurry.

"I'm sorry... Detective Flack, it's Adam. You know; Ross. I... I kinda need your help. Please," he added politely.

"Shoot."

"What? Oh! I see; you mean... okay, it's just that..." He paused and Jade nodded her encouragement.

"Get to the point, Ross," Flack said, none too patiently.

So Adam did.

-xx-

Flack's arrival was swift. Adam supposed that he must have been in the neighbourhood - at Stella's crime scene? No, wait; that was hours ago... He groaned in confusion and scrubbed his aching head.

Jade was the lookout and, as soon as the lanky detective stepped out of his car, she led him through the gateway into the yard. Adam scrambled to his feet and immediately wished that he hadn't. Leaping forwards, Flack caught him as he swayed and lowered him back down to the ground where he sat, cross-legged, like a dejected gnome.

"You look like hell," Flack observed, crouching beside him. His blue eyes shone with concern. "Don't worry; the others are on their way."

"No - wait... I called _you_..." Adam shook his head unhappily and Flack looked troubled.

"No choice, I'm afraid. You've been mugged, Adam. This is a crime scene; you know that."

"Yeah, and I'm the victim." The bitterness of his reply surprised even him.

Flack nodded. "Victim - not corpse," he said softly. "There's a difference. Think on that, okay?"

"I do. I am. I'm sorry." A lone tear slipped from the corner of his eye before Adam could stop it, and trickled down his cheek. Flack's mouth took on an angry twist.

"You see who did this?" he demanded.

"No..." Adam's voice was barely a whisper. "I tried..."

"They sat on him," Jade supplied helpfully. "Face down on the ground. He was unconscious when I found him. I doubt he's with it even now; just take a look at his face."

"Okay, thanks." Flack gave her a strange look.

"Jade Tomlin," she said. "Friend of Adam."

Friend? Adam opened his mouth to protest, but the conversation had already rolled on without him, like a rock down a mountainside. He couldn't help but notice Flack's hostility. What was _that_ all about?

"Jade," he echoed. "And you... what? You 'found' him?"

"Heard him screaming before he passed out." Jade gave little away as she told the bare facts of her story. Was she protecting Adam - or herself? He began to feel a twinge of doubt. How _had _she come to save him so neatly? Tossing her long hair over her shoulder, she continued. "Took me a while to find this place. When I came through the gate, one of them fled right away. I pulled the other one off him and we struggled - not for long, though. I've got moves." She grinned.

Flack looked around the empty yard. Adam did the same, noticing for the first time how bare and ugly it was; a square of grey dirt surrounded by a peeling wooden fence that was covered in coarse graffiti. The only signs of life, apart from Jade and the two men, were the weeds; and not even a child could have hidden behind the largest clump. A second gateway led to an abandoned block of apartments. It was standing open.

"And then?" Flack prompted.

"And then they got away." Jade shrugged and pointed to Adam. "My first priority was _him_. I'm sure you'd agree with that, Detective. I wasn't about to go racing off down some twisting maze of back-alleys after God-knows who, leaving Adam alone and unconscious." Her eyebrows lifted and she met Flack with a challenging stare. "Believe me, or don't believe me. That's what happened."

Adam tried to picture the scene. In his mind, the colours were game-bright and Jade was a powerful avatar, fighting her way to his side. Which made him...

_A loser,_ he thought. _Weak and useless_. Self-pity was creeping up on him and he was finding it hard to resist.

"Then you saw what they looked like," Flack prompted.

"Not really. One was a girl; I could tell that much, even though I only saw the back of her. They both wore dark hoods pulled right over their faces - no imagination. The second one was skinny, but kinda strong. Smelled funny, too."

A scent-memory caught at the back of Adam's throat, making him gag. Flack turned to him at once. "I'm sorry," he said. "We should save all this for later. You won't mind coming down to the precinct and making a statement, right?" he added, throwing the casual request in Jade's direction. "You know where it is, after all..."

Once again, Adam got the feeling that he was missing something vital. Jade coloured, but kept her composure. "I can do that," she said.

Beyond the fence, a car pulled up. Adam recognised the heavy purring sound and his heart gave a strange little leap. Footsteps tumbled out of the Avalanche and a breathless figure burst through the gate.

Lindsay. Not the person that he had expected. And yet, when she bent down and peered at his face, the sight of her warm brown eyes, so kind and so distressed, made him melt completely. All pretense at self-control was gone. Adam dropped his head into his hands, trying to hide the treacherous flow of tears. Lindsay slipped her arm around his shoulder - and pulled away in shock as he flinched. Her sleeve was covered in blood and she stared, aghast, before circling round to study his back. Flack and Jade moved to join her.

Silence.

"What?" Adam whispered, fearfully. The wound was even harder to ignore now that so many eyes were upon it.

"Oh - it's not that bad," she told him. "Looks worse than it is, I'd say."

"And what does it look like?"

"There's a lot of blood - I guess you know that - but it's stopped flowing." Lindsay faltered. "It looks... it looks like they carved something into your shoulder..."

"It's an eye," Jade added bluntly. Flack swore under his breath.

For a moment, Adam said nothing. Then he let out a high-pitched giggle. "That's insane," he gasped. "You're kidding me, right?" Twisting round, he pleaded with his eyes. "Right, Lindsay?"

"Adam, I'm sorry..."

He pulled back and clambered to his feet once more. "No. This is wrong. It's all wrong. I... I think I'd like to go home now..." There was an urgent noise in his head, like the beating of wings. Madness, overwhelming him. "Take me home," he demanded. Why would no one listen...?

"Adam!" Flack's voice cut through his panic, snapping him back to his senses. He stood on his own, swaying gently, mouth open in shock. Behind him, the rolling sound of a siren drew closer.

"Oh!" he said; a soft explosion. "That was dumb. I'm so sorry, okay?"

And then, with a comical look of dismay, he let go of everything and the ground swung up to meet him.

-xx-

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed the update! And thank you to everyone who has been reviewing - your comments are such fun to read.**


	11. Chapter 11

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Eleven**

_**"A tangled forest and the feeling of hidden eyes watching." (James Christensen, 'Voyage of the Basset, 1996')**_

They gave him something for the fire in his shoulder. It dulled the pain but it also skewed his thoughts and that made him panic. Trapped in a cubicle with strangers who poked and pulled at his body, he found this second assault far more intimate. He knew that they were only doing their job, but there was a thrill of fear inside him that would not go away, no matter how hard he fought against it.

He had woken up in the ambulance, still at the scene, to find Lindsay collecting trace from beneath his nails. It disturbed him even more to learn that she had already run through the rest of the process - pictures and all. At the hospital, a nurse and a smart-looking female doctor had taken his clothes and bagged them; sliding him into a backless gown instead. After that, they took his dignity, their gloved hands roaming across his skin as they spoke clichéd words of reassurance that meant nothing to him. He had heard them all before. Enduring in silence, he was painfully aware of the man who lingered beyond the curtain, and could only imagine what he must be thinking.

At long last, the doctor stepped back and peeled off her gloves. "Um... are you done?" he ventured.

"For now," she said briskly.

"You've patched up the wound on my back, right?" He kept his voice steady, but it was an effort. Catching the look in his eye, the doctor stiffened as though she had already sensed his intention.

"Yes, but Mr. Ross..."

"And the rest? It's all just bruises - no broken bones?"

"I believe so, yes, but a series of x-rays would confirm..."

Adam shook his head, cutting her off mid-sentence. Climbing down from the bed, he put all of his strength into standing up straight and not falling over. "Thanks for your help, okay," he said sincerely. "I feel much better now and I don't want to waste your time. Detective Flack can take me home. He's a cop, so there's nothing to worry about."

"Because cops are trained in medicine these days?" The doctor folded her arms, clearly preparing for a battle of wills. At the same time, hearing his name, Flack lifted the curtain and peered into the cubicle, grinning.

"Just one problem," he offered, to Adam's dismay. "You don't have a shirt." Or pants, his eyes added silently, flicking downwards.

Adam flushed. In his haste to leave, he had not considered this vital fact. Turning his back to the wall, he tugged at the ugly blue gown and thanked his lucky stars that at least they had left him his boxers. "Oh..."

"Maybe I can help with that," a familiar voice interceded.

Flack whirled round and Adam peered past him. "Boss!" he cried, torn between happiness and sheer embarrassment.

"Nice save," Flack said, as he noticed the black canvas bag in Mac's arms.

The doctor huffed at this new invasion of her territory yet Mac was undeterred. Giving her a nod that hovered on the very edge of politeness, he stepped into the cubicle and laid his offering on the bed. Adam opened the bag and stared in astonishment.

"I can't wear those," he whispered urgently.

Mac's eyes bored into him. There was... _something _behind his steady gaze. Anger, tightly controlled; but it wasn't directed at him, or Flack, or even the scowling doctor. "Lindsay told me about your shirt. I didn't have time to swing by your apartment."

"But... they're _yours_."

"From my locker." He nodded. "We're roughly the same size, Adam. Or is there some other problem? Don't you like my fashion sense...?" A wry smile forced its way onto his lips. Adam knew that this was gentle teasing, meant to stir him into obedience - but still! To wear his boss's clothes? Unthinkable...

"Hey - you want to get out of here, don't you?" Flack hinted, making the doctor frown even more. "Let's give the man some privacy," he continued, turning to include her in the conversation.

She threw up her arms in defeat. "On your own head be it," she warned Adam, scrawling a hasty prescription and shoving it into his hand before stalking out. The young nurse followed, winking at Flack in shared amusement. Adam felt a stab of guilt. His decision was reckless; he knew it, but the urge to escape was even stronger. Too many people. Too many eyes.

"Do you need any help?" Mac said quietly, letting his gaze travel from Adam's face to his trembling hands.

God, no. He couldn't believe that they were actually letting him go through with this - but then, when had Mac Taylor or Don Flack ever relished spending time in hospital? "Got it, thanks," he breathed, and the two men slipped out of the cubicle, dragging the curtain shut behind them. Finally, Adam was alone.

He stared at the neat pile of clothes inside the bag. Mac's shirt sat on top. Dark blue and sharply pressed, it was part of the boss man's daily persona. Stretching out his fingers, Adam touched it nervously. "Wonder if this one stops bullets," he murmured to himself. A snigger from outside the cubicle told him that Flack had not gone far.

Adam's shoulder was taped up so much that the bandages crackled and, whilst there was no pain right now, movement of any kind was restricted. Dropping the gown with some difficulty, he stood in the cubicle feeling cold and vulnerable, clad in nothing more than his boxers. The ghost of an ache ran down his arm and his chest was tight. He knew the cause of that. _Stop panicking,_ he told himself crossly. _No one's watching..._

The thought mocked him and he shivered. Goosebumps flared across his bare skin.

Oh, how he wished that he had seen the wound before they covered it. Nothing could be worse than the image that burned through his imagination, red like fire. The Eye of Sauron, forever at his back.

"Get a grip," he hissed, reaching for the shirt. "It's a couple of scratches, alright? Someone's idea of a bad joke."

And yet...

Stubbornly, Adam refused to follow that thought. He slipped his good arm through one sleeve and then wrestled with the other side until the shirt was on. Buttoning the front, he grabbed the pants and went through a similar clumsy routine. Last of all came a pair of dress shoes that were only one size too small. Squeezing into them, Adam looked down at himself. "I'm Mac Taylor," he joked - yet the thought gave him courage.

"Done," he offered simply, stepping out of the cubicle with the empty bag.

Flack gave a smile. "Very smooth. Very 'head-of-the-crime-lab'."

"In my dreams," Adam shot back, looking around for his boss.

"Really? That's what you want? 'Cause I dream of owning the Knicks."

The two men stared at each other. _We're both lying,_ Adam thought suddenly, knowing full well that his dreams were darker and guessing that Flack's were too.

Just then, Mac appeared beside them with a wheelchair. "No way," Adam breathed. "I don't need one of those. I can walk; I'm..."

"Fine?" Mac said pointedly. "Hop in. Enjoy the ride. How often do you get the chance to be pushed around by your boss?"

"Don't answer that," Flack whispered in his ear, making Adam splutter. He turned the noise into a cough and sat down quickly.

They left the hospital in companionable silence. When they reached the SUV, a meaningful look passed between his two rescuers, followed by Mac's keys, hand to hand. Adam clambered into the back seat, only to be joined by Mac from the other side. Flack settled into the driving seat. He started the engine and they pulled away.

"Now," Mac said. "How are you - really?"

Adam thought about lying. He thought about pretending that everything was okay. But this was Mac, and Mac deserved the truth. "They pinned me down and carved an eye into my back," he sighed. "How would _you_ feel?"

"Good point," Flack commented. Mac's face was unreadable.

"Why do you think they did that?"

"What? Boss, if I knew the answer to that, I really would be bucking for your job, okay? They're crazy. If Jade hadn't saved me..." He paused. Once again, that nasty worm of doubt was crawling through his gut.

"And Jade's your friend, right?" Flack queried from the front seat.

"Not exactly. Friend of a friend - well, cousin, anyway. I think..." He wriggled uncomfortably. "I think she likes me. _'Like'_ likes - if you know what I mean?"

"Not always," the detective murmured. Mac sent a frown in his direction through the rear view mirror.

"You watched the CCTV footage. Were these the same guys who mugged Conrad Valens and killed Marissa Kelly?"

"Girls," Adam said softly. "Not guys. I... I don't know. I think so, boss."

"Any reason why they'd pick you as their next victim?"

"I'm sorry - I really don't know." His head was spinning as he tried to remain coherent. Unable to answer, he ventured a question of his own. "Does the... okay, do you think the eye means that they're watching me?"

Mac fell silent and Adam could tell that he was searching for the right answer. "I think they want you to believe that," he admitted finally. "Doesn't mean it's true."

_Or false,_ Adam thought, but he didn't say as much. "Great. Thanks."

"If you're worried," Flack said, "I can post a uni on your six for a couple of days."

The offer was kind, but the very thought of someone following him around only served to fuel his paranoia. "Oh! Um... no, that's not... I'll be okay, detective; thank you."

Flack shrugged. "I'm just sayin'. There's no shame in bein' afraid."

But there was; there really was. Here he sat, with the two bravest men he knew - and this was what they thought of him? _Poor little Adam Ross, can't protect himself. Shakes with fear at the first sign of trouble. Jello Man..._ He closed his eyes and sank down further in his seat.

"Still tired?" Mac said with open sympathy.

"Mm," he mumbled. "I slept, boss. Honest I did..."

Mac reached out and laid a hand on his arm to reassure him. "It's not a criticism, Adam." Sighing, he leaned forwards. "Look, Don, I need to see the crime scene; talk to Lindsay. You think you could stay with him for a while? Make sure he's okay? Look around...?"

"Already cleared it." Flack sounded smug. "I'm off the clock till morning."

_Got my own bodyguard._ Adam tried to wrap his head around the thought of Detective Flack in his apartment.

Oh, no! His apartment...

He hoped that Flack was not a fussy man.

-xx-

"Nice building," the detective offered casually as they rode up in the elevator. Adam resisted the urge to slump against the side of the car.

"Um - thanks." He swallowed. "Look, you don't have to do this, okay? I'm just gonna sleep. I'll be fine."

Flack pulled a face. "You don't look fine."

_Neither do you,_ Adam thought, but he held his tongue. The door slid open and he stepped through, followed by his new best friend. It was only when they reached his apartment that he spotted the flaw in their plan.

"My keys," he said dolefully. "They were in my pants."

"And your pants..."

"Are evidence now," they finished together.

"Wait there - I'll go fetch your super."

"No need." Adam shook his head. "There's a better way." Shuffling along the corridor, he knocked on Elma's door instead. "My neighbour," he explained as they waited. "I have her keys and she has mine. You know, for emergencies."

"Like this one," Flack grinned.

"Kinda..." Adam's sharp ears picked up the rattle of the chain and he frowned. Clearly, Beth-Anne's accident had unnerved Elma far more than he realised. The door cracked open and a pair of brown eyes peered out warily.

"Hello...?".

He waited as she took in his appearance, making no attempt to remove the chain. Flack stood nearby, looking puzzled. "It's me," Adam offered at last. "You know - Adam? Elma, are you okay?"

The brown eyes blinked.

"Of course I am. Adam; how silly of me. For a moment there..." Elma shook her head. "Never mind. Let me get this off."

The chain was released and the door flew open. "Come in," she told him. "I was just boiling the kettle for a pot of tea. You can join me if you like." Her gaze slipped past him. "Who's your friend?"

"Oh! Elma Bryce, meet Detective Flack. And... I don't mean to be rude, okay, but I can't really stay. I just need my keys. The spare set," he added. "I'm locked out."

She pouted. "Why not come in anyway? I've made cookies..."

He could almost hear the saliva pooling in Don Flack's mouth - and all at once he was struck by another embarrassing truth. There was _still_ no food in his apartment. The milk, the bread; even the poor chrysanthemums were probably sitting in the back of the Avalanche right now, bagged and labelled - and useless.

"Great smell," Flack hinted. Was it Adam's imagination, or was the detective actually pleading with him; blue eyes wide and hopeful?

"I can't," he sighed, trying to ignore the vibes that Flack was sending out. If he sat down for even a second in one of Elma's cosy chairs, he would be lost. His own bed; that was what he needed. And... "Milk," he blurted, suddenly. "Do you... could you lend me some milk? I'm fresh out."

Which was how, ten minutes later, the two men entered Adam's apartment, laden with goodies and sharing a look of stunned amusement.

"That's some neighbour you've got there," Flack said, sounding more than a little jealous. "All mine gives me is earache. You get cookies."

"And cake." As they dropped their burdens on the kitchen counter, Adam glanced around cautiously. Yes. It really was as bad as he remembered. "Look," he began - but Flack folded his arms and shook his head.

"Don't go there," he said. "I'm not judgin'."

"Okay." Gratitude mingled with weariness in Adam's voice. "Um..." He wanted to be a good host but there was a block in his mind and all at once he could not seem to force his way past it. With far more sensitivity than he would have expected from the detective, Flack saw his problem and came to the rescue.

"Sit down," he said, pointing to the couch. "You hungry? Let's see how good those cookies really are."

-xx-

The sun went down and shadows swelled around them. Adam had nibbled his way through just one cookie - raisin and oatmeal, with a strong hint of Elma's favourite spice. The effort was enough to finish him off. Worn out, he curled up quietly on his side. Flack stuck a cushion beneath Adam's head and settled back into a nearby chair, long legs sticking out beneath the coffee table. Beside him was an empty, crumb-filled plate. He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. "See that stain up there?" he said absently. "Looks like Yoda..."

Adam forced his eyes to swivel upwards. "Star Wars? I didn't think..." He tried to tone down his surprise.

"Oh, yeah." Flack grinned. "I may not be a science geek like you, Ross, but I've got taste. I'm right, though, aren't I?" he added.

"Yeah," Adam murmured. "It kinda does. Thanks for that. Now I'm gonna feel like some nine hundred year old Jedi Master is watching every move I make..."

The comment had started out as a joke, but his voice died away as his mind flew straight back to that terrifying place he'd been trying so hard to avoid.

"No one's watching you," Flack said firmly. Then he blinked and shook his head. "Okay, maybe they are, 'cause I am, right now... but you're smart, right? You knew what I meant?"

"I knew. And thank you." Adam dropped his head once more and silence settled over the room - broken only by a strange sound that he couldn't quite identify. Peering round, he saw that Flack was moodily kicking the table, his own eyes still staring at the ceiling.

"You okay?" Adam ventured.

At first, he thought that Flack was ignoring him. There was no sense of connection between them until, quite suddenly, the detective began to speak. His voice was low. "They watch _me_, sometimes. I can feel 'em. Mac and the others; don't think I don't know it. _You_ know it. Seems like you're this crazy lab guy, always crackin' jokes and actin' weird, right? Ask me, we've got more in common than they suspect."

Adam held his breath, afraid to interrupt. He _did_ know it. Flack wore a mask these days, just like him. Was he about to take it off? Spill his guts to a man that he barely knew?

"You ever been in love, Ross?" Flack asked suddenly.

"No," Adam whispered, and it was only half a lie. He had fancied himself in love on several occasions - but he had also seen the way that Flack looked at Jessica Angell when she was alive and he knew that there was no comparison.

"Heaven and hell." The phrase was cryptic. Flack closed his eyes and a shudder passed through him. When had his mood grown so dark? The room felt cold to Adam and the shadows closed in even further as he waited for an explanation that never came. Whatever compulsion had loosened Flack's tongue now turned around and sealed it up completely.

Long before Adam managed to fall asleep, he heard gentle snores drifting across the room - a definite end to all conversation. _Sorry, Mac,_ he thought, feeling strangely guilty at the lost opportunity. The feeling stayed with him, haunting his dreams all night like a restless blue-eyed spirit.

-xx-

**A/N: F****or all of your reviews/favourites/follows - thank you! Hope you enjoyed this chapter.**


	12. Chapter 12

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Twelve**

_**"'I don't feel very much like Pooh today,' said Pooh.  
**__**'There there,' said Piglet. 'I'll bring you tea and honey until you do.'"  
**__**(A.A. Milne, 'Winnie the Pooh')**_

He awoke to the frightening sense that someone was leaning over him. Dragged from a sleep so heavy that it pulled him downwards like a weight, at first he could not fathom where he was. His eyes were glued shut and his mouth was dry. Within the prison of his ribcage, his heart hammered urgently.

"Who's there?" he croaked.

"Don't tell me you slept here all night," a cheerful voice returned. "Some nurse Flack turned out to be."

And now he understood why the other person's breathing had seemed so close. Rubbing his eyes, he managed to open them at last. The first thing that he saw was Danny's grin; a wry mixture of sympathy for his plight and amusement at his disorientation. Unable to fit his wheelchair into the gap between the coffee table and Adam's makeshift bed, he had circled around to the side of the couch.

"Thought I'd check on you before work," he continued. "See if there was anything you needed. Flack let me in, but he had to run. I tell ya, the man did _not _look good, Adam. You two stay up all night swappin' stories?"

Instead of replying, Adam pushed himself into a sitting position. The muscles in his back shifted, tugging at the edges of his wound. He clenched his teeth against the anticipated rush of pain - but to his surprise it was dull, not sharp; and wretched like toothache. Danny winced at the look on his friend's face.

"Meds worn off?"

Adam's answering groan was heartfelt. Yes, they had - and what good was a piece of paper with some doctor's scrawl on it? He should have remembered to stop at a pharmacy on the way home. Too late now... He swallowed and rose to his feet, discovering a whole range of milder aches and pains as he did so.

"Whoa, buddy - where you goin'?"

"I need..." He stopped, as the answer eluded him. Oh - yes! "I need to get out of these clothes, okay? They're Mac's. He'll want 'em back. And I feel..."

So many ways to finish that sentence. Unable to choose, he floundered. Embarrassed? Uncomfortable? Sick?

Hungry?

"Tell you what," Danny said, almost as though he could untangle Adam's thoughts and read each one. "You take some time. Freshen up, change your clothes. And I'll make you some breakfast. Sound good?"

"Sure," he whispered, edging across to his bedroom. First stop was the closet, where he grabbed a random t-shirt and a pair of sweats; the first items that he laid eyes on. He followed that up with a clean pair of boxers. Danny tailed him anxiously until he reached the bathroom door; then veered off towards the kitchen.

"Yell if you need me," he called back over his shoulder.

Adam shut the door and leaned his forehead against it, allowing himself one single moment of despair. Spreading his fingers, he clung to the wood. The door was his anchor; the world a kaleidoscope that spun around him.

"...five... four... three..." he murmured softly. Reaching the end of his countdown to sanity, he took a deep breath and straightened up. Moment over. Time to move on.

A quick glance in the mirror showed that Mac's shirt was sadly creased. Feeling guilty, Adam fumbled with the buttons and tried to shrug it off without straining his bad shoulder. Unfortunately, he had forgotten about the cuffs. What followed was pure slapstick. With both hands pinned and the shirt hanging free behind him, he flapped around the bathroom like an ungainly crow, trying to release himself and grunting with the effort. "Ow! _Ow!_ Get _off_ me."

"You okay in there?" The casual tone of Danny's voice did nothing to hide his concern.

"Fine," Adam lied. Turning, he caught a glimpse of his red face, beneath a wild mop of hair. The sight was ridiculous and, all of a sudden, a laugh bubbled up in his throat. "No, I'm not," he admitted at last. "Think you could help me? No jokes, though - promise?"

"I promise," Danny said innocently. Adam doubted his sincerity, but at this point, what choice did he have?

"Come in, then," he sighed.

The door swung open and Danny appeared. The look on his face was priceless. "Problem?" he managed, at last.

"No, Danny," Adam said archly. "This is how I always get undressed."

"Is it sad that I want to believe you?" his friend grinned. "Not a joke," he added, holding up his hands. "Just an observation."

"That's great. Thanks a lot, _buddy._ Think you could 'observe' a way for me to get out of this mess?"

"I could do that; sure. Turn around."

Obediently, Adam presented his bound hands to Danny, who began to fumble through the familiar blue fabric to the first pair of buttons.

"So weird..."

"What is?"

"You, in the boss's shirt... You feel any different, wearing it?"

"It's not a superhero costume, Danny." Adam paused. Dropping the sarcasm, he smiled, even though his friend couldn't see it. "Yeah, I did, kinda. Didn't feel a sudden need to sneak up behind people, though. Or a surge of grim determination... No new ninja skills, either."

"Mac's a marine, not a ninja," Danny corrected him solemnly. "There! First hand's free."

"Thank you." Adam's gratitude was heartfelt. "I can do the other one - I think." Turning back to face his friend, he caught the direction of Danny's gaze and flinched. "Oh. Yeah... that. Talk about overkill. You think maybe the doctor just wanted to practice her bandaging technique?" Bereft of lightness, the joke fell horribly flat.

"Buddy, you're a mess. Look at the state of you."

"Is this a pep talk? 'Cause, really..." Adam's voice tailed off, as a new thought occurred to him. "I wish I could. Look at it, I mean. _You_ saw it, right; in Lindsay's photos? And Stella, and Hawkes... and the boss-man. Let's face it, the whole lab's probably seen it by now and I'm the only one who doesn't know what's been scrawled across my back by some knife-wielding lunatic! _Awe_some."

"Hey - _hey!_ Calm down, okay?" Danny reached up to tug on Adam's shirt-bound wrist as he fumbled with the bandage that hid his wound. "You pull that off, you're goin' straight back to the hospital."

"Dammit..." Adam's hand dropped and he hung his head, defeated. Trouble was, this put him right in Danny's line of sight. The two men stared at each other in silence.

"Yes, I saw it," Danny said eventually. "But if you think that Lindsay would flash it around the lab like some kind of sick entertainment..."

"I don't. I'm sorry." Adam shook his head. "I know you guys are trying to help me. It's just so frustrating, not knowing..." And then he looked; _really_ looked at his friend and the shock of his own selfishness made his cheeks burn in humiliation. "Oh God, Danny; that was a dumb thing to say. You don't need me to tell you that. Please don't hate me..."

"What?" For a moment, Danny seemed truly confused. "You mean this ride of mine? Adam, buddy, you've been mugged. Just 'cause I'm in a wheelchair doesn't mean you can't feel sorry for yourself."

"But _you_ don't." Adam's tone was full of quiet admiration. "That is... I mean, you fight it. All the time - I've seen you."

"Oh, come _on_! You kiddin' me?" Danny laughed out loud; a cheerful sound that lifted the whole conversation. "Okay, do me a favour and tell Lindsay what you just said. She needs a good chuckle. She's been gettin' this frown line between her eyebrows lately... Adam, I'm the worst patient in the world."

"Is it sad that I want to believe you...?"

"Ouch! Usin' my own words against me - that's harsh."

Both men grinned shyly.

"Enough," Danny told him, at last. "I'll get Lindsay, or one of the others, to email... no, to bring you a copy of the pictures. Till then, forget about it, okay? Won't do no good to dwell on things like that. Trust me, Adam."

Rolling backwards, he left the bathroom. Adam finished getting changed in silence. The last thing he did was fold Mac's clothes neatly before placing them on the lid of his washbasket. Somehow, it felt right to treat them with respect, rather than simply slinging them in with the rest of his laundry. He smiled at his own actions and then walked out, holding himself stiffly. Time to see what Danny was up to in his kitchen - a scary thought.

He was met by a frown, and the smell of hot coffee. "Your fridge is bare, man. And I couldn't reach your cupboards - but I'm guessing there wouldn't be much point. Am I right?"

"Um... yeah."

"Do you _ever_ go shopping, Adam?"

"I do. I _did_. That's where I was, when..." In spite of his wish to be strong, Adam found that he still couldn't finish the difficult thoughts. He clenched his teeth and tried again. "When I got mugged, okay?"

"Oh." Danny paused, disconcerted. "Anyway," he continued, after a moment, "the coffee jar was plenty full. Guess I know what your priorities are. And I found some milk right here on the counter; a little warm but fresh enough. So, drink up. I called Stella and she's comin' over just as soon as she can with some real food. You can't live on cookies and cake; or - what's this? - some kinda pie?"

"They were gifts from my next door neighbour. I stopped there to pick up my spare keys. Detective Flack was very charming..."

"Ah." Clearly that explained everything to Danny's satisfaction. He smirked and held out the steaming mug of coffee. "Will you cope till Stella gets here?"

Strange, to feel so defensive and yet, at the same time, so full of warmth. "I'm fine, Danny," Adam said, trying not to sound ungrateful. "I can manage on my own - I just need some rest. You guys are busy, okay? I'll sleep today and see you back at work tomorrow."

"Says you." Danny held out his hand. "Prescription?"

Adam fetched it from the coffee table where he had tossed it last night, and passed it to his friend, who was already heading towards the door. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For this - and for everything."

"Hey - friends, right? You'd do the same for me; I know that." Danny spun round to face him. "Lock the door behind me."

A tiny shiver ran down his spine; an echo of Danny's concern. "I will."

Adam continued to watch as he rolled away down the corridor. The whoosh of the elevator dropping was a lonely sound. For the first time since the attack, he was truly on his own - and alarmed to discover how much that frightened him. Part of him wanted to race after Danny and beg him to come back. Instead, he did the bravest thing he could, under the circumstances. He stepped back into his apartment and closed the door.

Standing in the middle of the silent room, he held back a shudder. Distraction - that was the key. Raising his mug, he took a sip but the coffee tasted bitter and so he tipped it down the kitchen sink. "Sorry, Danny," he murmured. Elma's tin sat nearby on the table. Without even thinking, he opened it and stared at the last piece of cake. His stomach was growling by now, but his brain was repulsed by the thought of food and he didn't know quite what to do about that. "Gotta eat something," he decided in the end, and rammed the cake into his mouth. It felt claggy and far too sweet. He chewed and chewed, and swallowed it down, using all of his willpower just to keep it there. Not pleasant. He followed the cake with a long drink of water and that did help, so he filled the glass a second time and took it with him to the bedroom, setting it down on his nightstand with exaggerated care. His fingers were trembling slightly and he frowned at them. "Stop that."

It took three attempts to lie down on the bed without missing it completely. Each time he bent down, his head began to spin and he had to straighten up again. At last, he made it and the feeling was bliss. So soft and welcoming. He curled up on his side, letting his poor, aching body adjust to this new position.

His eyes drifted shut and sleep overwhelmed him, taking him prisoner. Nightmares rocked him, each one more terrifying than the last. The dark thread that linked them was pain. Adam whimpered but could not break free.

Time passed; minutes disguised as hours, until a sharp noise woke him, dragging him back to reality. _Elma,_ he thought; but the walls were silent. This sound was further away, and insistent. "Stella!" he cried with relief.

Rolling off his bed, he hit the floor. Unexpected, but not a disaster. He hauled himself up and staggered through the apartment, weaving awkwardly. "Don't go! I'm coming," he called out. His fingers were clumsy but he was stubborn and soon the lock gave way. He yanked the door open and froze in disbelief.

_Not_ Stella.

The figure in the corridor was Jade.

Dumbfounded, he stared at her. "Wh-what...?" he stuttered.

"Didn't we do this already?" she smiled, holding out a bulging paper bag that smelled surprisingly delicious. "What am I doing here? Checking on you, of course. Aren't you going to ask me in?"

Without even waiting for his reply, she slipped past him, so close that her long hair tickled his face. "Wh-what..?" he tried again, clutching the bag to his chest. It felt warm, and he peered inside. Freshly baked croissants, filled with brie and bacon.

"Breakfast," Jade said, lifting the rubbish from his coffee table and dropping it onto the floor beside the couch. She patted the wood with her hand. "Put it here. We can eat it together."

"I... what?"

"Is that all you can say?" She peered at him. "Adam, you look like a ghost. Were you sleeping?"

He nodded and closed the apartment door, but did not move closer. His palm began to sting as the warm croissants weakened the paper bag, threatening to drop right through. Jade frowned.

"Don't you trust me?"

"No," he blurted; unable to stop himself.

Laughing, she danced towards him and twitched the bag out of his hand, tossing it onto the table behind her. "Honesty. Nice. Tell me why, then, Adam Ross? What's the matter with me?"

Where to start? He leaned against the door and tried to think of a way to explain without offending her. "You're beautiful," he whispered, "and... and smart..."

"That's not bad, is it?" Jade teased him.

"No, of course not, but..." Deep down, he knew what he wanted to say. It was just so hard to say it. "You _feel_ wrong, okay? I'm sorry," he added unhappily, watching her dark eyes grow narrow. "I need to know... why were you there, Jade? Yesterday, when I was... when they attacked me?"

"I told you." Her voice was sharp, like broken glass, and no longer quite so amused. "I came to see if you were home from work. You seem like a nice guy, Adam, and I was a jerk. I wanted to apologise in person. That's the way I am."

"Then you didn't... you weren't... you know; what you said? Stalking me?"

Jade moved closer. She was tall - _really_ tall. Adam tried to step back but there was nowhere to go.

"You've been through something terrible," she said, "so I'll pretend I never heard that. Humour, Adam. I was joking, remember? Or maybe you think it was _me_ who attacked you..."

He gulped. Could she read his mind? Jade loomed over him, clouding his thoughts with her perfume. _Poison Ivy,_ he thought dizzily. "Okay, but Detective Flack... he knew you."

"So - what? That makes me the bad guy?" She frowned. "Did I get it wrong? Are you just like the rest of them? Don't make me sorry I rescued you - or bought you breakfast."

Her hand moved quickly and he flinched, but she was reaching for the door handle. Burning with shame, he slipped to one side. Did he want her to leave? No, not like this, he thought. Yes, she _had_ brought him breakfast - and he had insulted her. Who was the bad guy? _He_ was.

"Stop," he said. "Please stay. You're right; I'm not myself. It's just been a really weird couple of days."

Jade let her hand drop and folded her arms.

"Thank you," he added. "For saving my life."

"And?"

"And for the breakfast?" He offered her a wary smile as she stepped backwards.

"Much better. Now then - you need to sit down before you fall down. I'll fetch some plates. You _do_ have plates?" she quizzed him. "Clean ones?"

Adam nodded as she steered him to the couch. Her hands were firm on his shoulders, and he was just too weary to resist. The smell of the croissants was starting to fill the whole room by now and suddenly he found that he was starving. Slipping his fingers into the bag, he pulled off a flaky corner and popped it into his mouth. Heaven. Jade caught his eye from the kitchen and smiled. Feeling bolder, he reached out for more.

The knock at the door made them both jump.

"I'll get it," Jade sang out, before he could think about struggling to his feet.

Moving quickly, she headed across the room - and a scene popped into Adam's head that was quite alarming. Jade and Stella, face to face, like a pair of bristling cats. Which would make him... what, exactly?

_Nervous,_ he thought. _Very nervous._

The door swung open.

-xx-

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing/following/favouriting this story lately (and also some of my others)! You're amazing, and your comments make my day.**


	13. Chapter 13

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Thirteen**

_**"If you are untrustworthy, people will not trust you." (Lao Tzu)**_

Stella seemed pleased to discover that Adam was not alone. Jade ushered her in as though she had taken over the whole apartment. Her confident manner was highly disconcerting.

"I'm Jade," she explained, once Stella had set down the box that she was carrying. "Friend of Adam."

Surprising how often that word popped up. When _had_ they become friends, exactly? He couldn't quite pin down the moment. "Hey, Stella," he said from the couch. He started to rise but she held up a reassuring hand to stop him.

"Jade?" she said. "Oh, I see."

An innocent phrase; and the tone was quite placid for Stella. If she really _was_ a cat, Adam thought, then right now her tail would be twitching. In fact, he could almost see it. He tipped his head and squinted. Stella frowned to see his odd expression.

"How are you, Adam?" she asked, moving closer and perching on the coffee table. Left to her own devices, Jade circled the room, her dark eyes fixed on the two of them; sharp, like a knife in his shoulder...

"I'm good," he said hurriedly, pushing the image away.

"Here are your meds." Stella lifted them out of the box. Adam thanked her and set them to one side; ashamed, somehow, to admit his need in front of her. Stella watched, but did not comment. "I'm so sorry about what happened," she said. "Adam, next time I offer to bring you food..."

"Say yes?" He gave a rueful shrug.

"Don't offer - just do it. Worked wonders for me," Jade suggested.

"Yes, I can see that." Stella kept her eyes fixed on Adam. "You're sure everything is okay?" she insisted quietly. Fuzzy though his brain was, he could still make out the second question hidden beneath the first. Unfortunately, so could Jade, who halted.

"I'm sorry - _what_ are you implying?"

For one dreadful moment, Adam began to fear that he would see these women come to blows. The world had gone crazy and, right now, he wouldn't put anything past Jade. '_I've got moves,'_ said a smug voice in his head. But this was his home, not some back-alley brawl, and Stella, at least, had far too much respect for herself. She rose to her feet and smiled. To Adam, who knew her, the smile was a warning sign. To Jade, who knew nothing, it rankled.

"Your colleagues like to make assumptions, don't they?" Jade said to Adam, addressing her comments to him as though Stella was somehow beneath her. "Maybe she isn't aware that I saved your life yesterday?"

"I don't think she meant..." he began.

Stella stepped in front of him, effectively cutting him off from Jade's line of sight. "'She' can speak for herself, thank you, Adam."

He choked on the rest of his words and fell silent. Glancing round, Stella winked at him briefly. _Trust me,_ her eyes said.

Always. Filled with relief, he focussed on the sound of her voice as she turned back to Jade. "Detective Flack briefed us this morning," she said. "I know everything I need to know."

_Briefed us._ Adam flushed pink with embarrassment. Jade was unperturbed.

"Like I said - assumptions. Don't you CSIs usually deal in facts?"

"Yes, we do," Stella told her smoothly. "Fact. The only trace we found at the scene belonged to you and Adam. Fact. Your arrival was _very _convenient. Fact. Adam was unconscious when you 'saved' him, so we don't really know how that happened, now, do we? And fact: four nights ago... you want me to continue?" Her pause was an open challenge.

"Say what you like," was Jade's careless reply. "I've got nothing to hide. Adam knows that."

A brave statement and a flawed one, since Adam knew nothing of the sort. He pricked up his ears. Now, at last, he was going to solve the mystery of Flack's antagonism. He waited for Stella to speak again, wishing that he could see the expression on Jade's face. How rude would it be if he shuffled along to peek...?

"Ouch," he grunted, as a twinge of pain kept him exactly where he was. Locked in confrontation, the two women were oblivious. Adam bit his lip, holding back any more sounds that might interrupt them. He wanted to _know..._

Stella took up her story. "Four nights ago," she said, "Flack was working late at the precinct when a crowd was brought in from Byron's - a club with _quite_ a reputation."

"So you say. I'm from out of town," Jade cut in smoothly.

Stella went on as though she hadn't spoken. "This crowd was part of a nasty incident - an unprovoked attack on one of the bouncers. Trouble was, they were all so high that no one could get any sense out of them. So they spent the night in lock-up until they were fit to be questioned. Flack swears that one of them looked just like you - _was_ you, in fact. He went back this morning and checked the log. Jade Tomlin."

"Released without charge." Jade's tone was icy. "A victim of circumstance, just like Adam."

"Whatever you are," Stella murmured, "it isn't a victim."

As he listened, a horrible thought occurred to Adam. "Jade - was Kevin with you? Only... he said you both went out. That first night, when you came to New York. Did you take him to _Byron's_?"

"No, Adam. He took me." Her answer was firm. "What, you think that your friend doesn't know about places like that? He's a fool, yes, but Kevin's no innocent. He has his appetites, same as the rest of us. Well... not the _same_, exactly. Quite a shock, to discover his dark side..."

"Stop it!" Sick of the sound of her voice and her unwholesome words, Adam clapped his hands over his ears. "Just stop it, okay? Don't talk about Kevin like that. I don't believe you." Which wasn't the whole truth - even now, doubt was crawling through his mind like a cancer; twisting his memories, changing their shape... "I don't," he whispered miserably. "Kevin's my friend."

"Friends can disappoint us," Jade said.

Meaning what? Meaning him? Adam struggled to his feet. Stella reached out to help him and he clung to her arm without shame. "Look, Jade..."

"I know. I'm leaving," she said. "You'll be sorry for this, Adam Ross. I thought better of you."

His mouth fell open. When did he become the one at fault?

Jade's parting shot was delivered from the open doorway. "Enjoy your breakfast. And, when you're ready to apologise - well, you'll know where to find me. Don't leave it too late. And don't bring _her_ - or your friend, the mouthy detective."

"Jade..." He let go of Stella's arm, wobbling slightly, and stepped forwards. "Look, I... I meant what I said before, okay? All of it..."

"Words." Jade shrugged. "I prefer actions. Stay safe, Adam - and goodbye."

She closed the door. Adam stayed frozen in place. He felt cold and uncertain. Either he'd just rid himself of a menace - or he'd acted like an ungrateful coward.

Which one was it?

Even Stella seemed taken aback by Jade's reaction. "Adam, I'm so sorry. If I went too far..."

"No." Making up his mind, he shook his head. "I don't know that woman. Not really. You're my friend and you wanted to help. Please don't feel bad, Stella, okay?"

"Okay." Her voice still held a note of doubt, but she mustered a smile as she finally took a good look at her friend. "Oh, Adam..."

"What?" he said, ducking his head. "I've looked worse."

"Is that supposed to reassure me?" Her eyes were kind; too kind. He could feel himself crumbling. Stella must have seen the signs because her manner suddenly became much breezier and she changed the subject. "Right. Breakfast. Danny briefed me too, and I've got supplies. Unless you're wanting these... what are they, croissants?"

"No." Adam glanced at the paper bag which was so soggy by now that it was almost in tatters. Cheese was beginning to leak out onto the coffee table, streaked with shining veins of bacon grease. He swallowed. "They looked great at first, but I think I've gone off the idea."

Without another word, she swept up the bag and bore it away to the kitchen. Edging over to the cardboard box, Adam peeked inside. A welcome selection of food, fresh and plain - just the sort of thing his fridge and his stomach were crying out for. Tucked in beside the food was a slim brown envelope.

His fingers twitched.

There it was, without a doubt. The picture that Danny had promised him. How could an image haunt his mind so much when he hadn't even seen it? More to the point, did he truly _want _to see it?

Yes.

Oh, yes.

He was shaking by now, but he stretched out his hand and reached into the box just as Stella returned. Caught in the act. He faltered.

"Oh - that." Stella nodded when she realised what he had found. "It's for you. Stop looking so guilty, for heaven's sake, Adam. Lindsay sent it over when Danny explained... what's the matter?"

Speech was impossible. Adam clutched the envelope and stared at her, eyes pleading.

"Oh," she said softly. "I see."

Prising it from his fingers, she took his arm and helped him down onto the couch, sitting close beside him. Her face was thoughtful as she weighed her words. Adam watched the subtle movement of her brow in fascination. Where Jade had set his nerves jangling with her over-intrusive manner, Stella's closeness only brought him comfort. He could feel himself beginning to relax, the tightness in his chest and his neck growing looser. His whole body sagged.

"Oof," he sighed.

Stella pretended not to hear the involuntary sound. When she tilted her head, he could tell that she had come to a decision. The look in her green eyes was one that he had never seen from her before.

"Do you remember... Did anyone tell you...?" Stella paused. Starting a story was difficult; Adam knew that and he sympathised as she took a deep breath and tried again. "Believe me when I say that I know how you feel. There was an incident..." Her face settled into a mask. "I was attacked myself four years ago. By my ex-boyfriend, Frankie, in my own apartment. I'm not sure... it wasn't common knowledge in the lab..."

"I knew." Adam's voice was low.

"Yes, I thought maybe you did. Anyway." She tried to recover her composure. It was an admirable effort. "The point that I'm trying to make is this. When I left the hospital, Mac advised me not to go home that night. They all did, in fact. But I had to. I needed to see." She tilted her head. "Do you understand what I'm telling you, Adam?"

He nodded. "You think I'm right to look at this photo."

"Yes. But listen - going back there taught me something vital." Stella fixed him with her gaze. "I thought I could cope; thought I could just pick up the pieces of my life and get on without any problem. I told myself I was strong enough for that."

"You _are_ strong."

She smiled at his conviction. "Yes, and stubborn too. But thankfully, not so stubborn that I couldn't listen to my heart when it told me the truth. In the end, I stayed in that apartment for less than an hour. I said goodbye to my memories, walked out and locked the door behind me. That's the point of this story, Adam. Do what you need to do, for your own peace of mind - and then, when you've done it..."

"Move on," he whispered. Sound advice; and the one thing he spent his life trying to do. "Thank you, Stella. I guess... well, I'm ready now. Sorry to be so stupid."

"One more lesson." She glared at him, yet there was humour in her eyes. "Save your apologies for the times when you really need them. That way, they'll mean so much more."

"Okay. Sor..." He grinned. "I mean, sure."

Stella handed him the envelope and he tore it open, leaving a ragged edge. Inside, there was a single photograph. He held his breath and pulled it out.

Silence.

"Oh," he said at last, in a small voice. That was it, then. Ever since the attack, he had been imagining something fierce and dreadful, a dark symbol of the fear that had overwhelmed him at the time. The reality was far more crude; like some prehistoric tagging on a cave - except that this was no stone wall. It was his own skin. Adam stared at it dismally. "It's not even a _good_ drawing," he protested. "Guess I'm stuck with it, though." He ran his finger along the deep red lines, tracing the ugly shape and learning it by heart. After all, it was part of him now. The photograph was flat but he could see how puffy his skin looked around the carving. "No wonder it feels so sore."

"Skin grafts," Stella said firmly. "They'll fix it, Adam, I promise."

"Maybe..." One more scar. What did it matter, he tried to convince himself, on a body that secretly bore so many? His right hand clenched around the picture, crumpling the edges. The eye creased in a knowing wink. "Do _you_ think they're watching me, Stella?"

"No," she said with absolute certainty. "I think they just want to frighten you."

"Why?" The word was plaintive. Releasing his grip, he let the picture fall to the floor. His own wide eyes begged Stella for an answer; a _real _one.

"I can't tell you that, Adam. And you shouldn't be dwelling on it either."

"Easy for you to say," he grumbled softly, trying to smile.

"No, not really." She studied him, full of concern. "Look, I have to go back to work soon. Will you be okay here on your own? Because I could always call Mac and..."

"No!" His interruption was far too emphatic and he knew that he had startled her. No way to take it back, however. "Stella, it's okay. I'm just gonna sleep, you know? I don't need a babysitter - and I know you guys are up to your ears right now. Promise me one thing, though."

"Anything."

A tiny laugh broke free. "That's a dangerous promise to make when you don't know what I'm gonna ask you."

"Maybe I'm just humouring you." Stella raised one eyebrow. For a moment, her expression was unreadable - and then she grinned. "What is it, Adam? And don't you dare take advantage of my generosity."

"I wouldn't... I'm not... I only wanted..." Now it was his turn to take a deep breath. "Catch them for me, Stella. Please?" He watched her face fall as she caught the note of desperation in his voice, but he couldn't seem to hold it back any longer. "I'm scared."

"Oh, Adam," she sighed once more and she pulled him close in a careful hug.

-xx-

**A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. **


	14. Chapter 14

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Fourteen**

_**"Nothing good comes from hiding in the shadows." (David A. Broughton)**_

In the end, he stayed at home for three long days. People came and went - like visitors to a side-show, he thought wryly, even as he felt grateful for their kindness. It was his own self-confidence that had been damaged and that was a serious problem. Part of him longed to return to work. That was the real Adam; restless, stubborn and cheerful. The other Adam could not even take a step out of the apartment. He was a ghost from the past and to feel his influence growing strong again was terrifying.

Adam knew that he should have cleaned by now. He should have worked through the piles of unread magazines that littered his desk and his kitchen table. Free time was a gift and he was wasting it, letting the precious seconds swirl by like floodwater as he sat on his couch playing game after game, unable to stick at one, unable to feel any sense of enjoyment.

Whenever his colleagues appeared, he smiled and joked and promised them that he was on the mend. When they left, he slumped back into his seat, crushed beneath the sudden weight of silence.

Turn up the volume.

Tune out the world around him.

Trouble was - and why had he never noticed this before? - his collection of games was full of violent characters; assassins, soldiers, questing mages with deadly power at their fingertips. Every virtual battle sent Adam's mind spiralling back to his own defeat. He knew that he should stop playing - and yet, somehow, he found himself seeking the pain and the anger; needing their sharp edge to keep him alive and to spur him onwards. Better that than the terrible numbness that threatened to swallow him whole.

_Get up,_ his brain urged. _This is bad..._

Adam ignored it.

On the third day, much to his amazement, Haylen came.

Resisting the urge to slam the door in her face, he beckoned her in politely. "Detective Taylor gave me your address," she beamed.

Did he? Adam frowned, full of confusion. Surely Mac, of all people, had noticed how much Haylen unnerved him? Curious, then, that he would give out something as personal as a home address. "That's nice," he muttered. "Um... sorry about..."

"The mess?" She glanced around and chuckled. "This is nothing compared to my brother's room at NYU. I don't even remember what colour his carpet should be - haven't seen it in months. Hey, you want me to help? I could have this straightened up for you in no time."

"No thanks." Adam could feel his toes curling with dislike. "Haylen - what are you _doing_ here?"

"Visiting you, of course. The crime lab feels awfully quiet without you, and I just thought - well, so did Detective Taylor - that you might appreciate a friendly face. You know, someone to make you smile."

"I've had lots of visitors," he said defensively. "Mac himself came yesterday." Yes, and he was still reeling from that; the unthinkable sight of the boss man standing right there in the middle of his apartment. His dump of a home. Mac's manner had been quiet but his penetrating gaze had swept the room and Adam knew. He knew that Mac wasn't fooled by fake smiles and half-hearted jesting. Dipping his head, he had waited for a lecture or some kind of pep-talk, but neither had been forthcoming. Instead, it seemed, the man had sent his enemy to comfort him.

"He's worried about you," Haylen confided, as though she had followed his thoughts word for word. Adam jumped.

"He _told_ you that?"

"He didn't have to. It was written all over his face."

An unlikely picture was forming in his mind; the job-stealing blonde and his boss in a cosy tête à tête. Discussing _him_ and all of his failings...

Ridiculous. He pushed the image away. Mac would never be so indiscreet.

"Oh," he gulped. "Well - thanks for coming, okay? I'm fine, as you can see. Couldn't be better, in fact."

"Are you sure about that?" Her bright eyes were dubious. "Only, you look dreadful..."

"I'm _fine._" Adam clenched his teeth. He should win an award - best fake smile under trying circumstances. "How are things back at the lab?"

"Which things in particular?" she asked sweetly. Dammit, was she _trying_ to infuriate him or was it just an unlucky side-effect of her character?

"People. Cases. Anything..." All at once, he felt hungry for gossip.

Haylen beamed. "Are you bored? Because I know _I_ would be. Enforced rest just isn't my style." Once again, her eyes roamed around the apartment and a line creased the centre of her brow. "Adam, are you _sure_ I can't help you to..."

"Haylen." His tone was pointed and she snapped back to attention.

"Oh, right. The lab. Well, still no progress on the Compass Killer. I've been assisting Dr. Hawkes with his analyses. He's such a generous man, don't you think? I've learned so much from him already..."

A question was burning a hole in Adam's tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to ask it. Instead, he listened as her bright voice babbled on and on.

"... and Detective Bonasera; she let me work on the prints from her latest murder scene. She was delighted when we finally found a match. Then, of course, there's the pattern..."

"Wait. What pattern?" Zoning in on the unexpected phrase, Adam frowned at her.

"Oh - you don't know. That's right; of course. Though I would have thought one of the others... Sorry, Adam. The pattern from the muggings - or rather, the discrepancy."

Was this what it felt like to everyone else when he went off on one of his nervous, rambling explanations? _Remind me never to do that again,_ he thought grimly. "Haylen. What are you talking about?"

"Well, Detective Messer, you know, he was the one who discovered it really. I just happened to be in the AV lab at the time. Richard was showing me how to increase the resolution on the main..." Her voice tailed off as she finally noticed the gleam of frustration in his blue eyes. "But you don't care about that," she acknowledged, with a penitent smile. "The point is, Detective Messer was plotting a timeline and a map of all the muggings - there've been three more, you know - and he noticed a curious deviation."

"Which was?" Adam prompted. By some happy chance, she had finally broached the subject that was tormenting him. He longed to know what progress had been made in his own case - yet he was afraid of the answer.

"Most of the muggings took place within a ten block area of Manhattan. The only one that happened outside that area was..."

"Mine." It wasn't a guess. Haylen nodded as Adam considered this new revelation. Thinking back to the mugging, he cringed. At the time, he had been so certain. But this new detail - well, there were only two logical solutions. Neither one left Adam feeling reassured. Solution one: his mugging had nothing to do with the other ones after all. Which made it, suddenly, so much more personal. Solution two: it was connected, and for some sick reason the wolves had chosen to follow him home.

Oh, God.

"Adam, you've gone really white. Do you need a drink of water or something?"

"No." He shook his head and stumbled backwards. "I just... it's okay, Haylen. I need to sit down for a minute, that's all." As he dropped onto the couch, he lifted his head to stare at her. "Danny - Detective Messer. Did he say anything else? You know, mention any other details..."

"I wasn't really listening." Haylen looked suitably guilty. "Thing is, he was talking to Lindsay, not to me - I'm not even sure they knew I was there - and I kind of felt bad for eavesdropping when they started discussing what happened to you. So I stopped. Shortly after that, I left the room."

Great. Just great. The one time she chose not to interfere...

Or was she lying? The look on her face was a little _too_ penitent. Exactly how much did she _really_ know; this smiling succubus who seemed to have made it her mission to steal, not his soul, but the best thing in his life.

_First chance I get,_ Adam thought, _I'm calling Danny._

No - better than that; first thing tomorrow he was heading back to work. No more wallowing; no more distraction.

No more fear.

Adam straightened up, feeling quite determined and far more alert than he had for days. And then, with a flash of insight, he saw the sheer brilliance of Mac Taylor's strategy.

_Note to self, _he thought ruefully. _Never play chess with the boss..._

-xx-

Getting Haylen to leave was difficult. She seemed even more eager than usual to prove her friendship by the doubtful method of talking his head off. Feigning a need to sleep, he finally managed to manoeuvre her out of the door. It was a cowardly move, he knew, but she _had _done him a favour in a roundabout way. He might dislike the girl, but he certainly wasn't mean enough to hurt her feelings by kicking her out in an obvious fashion.

When the door closed behind her and silence returned, Adam sighed with relief. At long last, the weight had gone. Instead, he felt peaceful - and strangely amused. With the veil of apathy lifted from his eyes, he gazed around and took in the hideous state of his apartment.

"You've turned into a slob," he scolded himself, "and you should be ashamed. No wonder Mac sent Haylen. This place looks like a crime scene in need of a clean up."

The question was, where to start? Adam decided that the kitchen was as good a place as any. Mugs, plates and half-eaten food littered every surface. He wrinkled his nose at the stale smell and opened a window. Fresh air - when had he last felt _that_ on his face?

Filling the sink with hot water and zesty bubbles, he rounded up the crockery and stacked it in a precarious heap. Elma's empty pie dish was the crowning item and therefore the first to be washed. He dipped it into the water - and froze.

Wait - Elma...

The dish slipped out of his hand and sank to the bottom, beneath the suds. Adam glanced at the wall that divided his own apartment from the one next door. His expression was one of furtive guilt.

In the midst of his own self-pity, he had forgotten all about his lonely neighbour. Had she been knocking? Lately, he had spent so long on the couch instead of in his bed that he didn't even know. He had eaten her food and, in return, he had neglected her.

"Fix it, Adam," he muttered fiercely.

Leaving the dishes to soak themselves clean instead, he collected his keys and headed for the door. It was there that he encountered an unexpected problem.

He still couldn't bring himself to leave the apartment.

Every time he reached for the doorknob, a bolt of fear shot through him and his hand fell back to his side. The image of a single eye rose before him, puffy and red. They were watching. What if they were outside right now?

"You mean, what if you're going crazy?" Adam amended, clenching his fists and forcing himself to try again. So much effort to achieve such a tiny victory. He could feel the sweat running down his brow as his hand closed around the knob and began to turn it. _No more fear..._

The door swung open.

"I win," Adam said, stepping out into the corridor.

Thankfully, there was no one else in sight. He scuttled across to Elma's door and knocked on it urgently.

"Elma? You there? It's me..."

For what seemed like an age, there was no response. Adam had just decided to go back and fetch her spare keys when he heard the shuffling sound of slippers on carpet. He waited for the rattle of the chain but, instead, Elma opened the door and stared at him expectantly.

"Where would you like me to sign?" she said.

"Um... sign?" Adam's sharp eyes took in her dishevelled state. Her blouse was stained and her skirt was full of creases. Her face, though bright enough, was... wrong, somehow. As though a completely different person had taken up residence behind the wrinkled softness of her skin.

"For the parcel." She peered at his hands and frowned. "Where is it? I've been waiting for days, young man. Don't you know that?"

Adam shivered.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Bryce," he told her softly. "The parcel got lost. If you give me some details, maybe we could find it together."

Suspicion scored deep lines across her brow. "Are you trying to trick me? My husband isn't here, but he'll be home any moment. Perhaps you should leave."

_I can't,_ Adam thought in desperation. "Mrs Bryce," he tried again. "Elma, please. It's Adam."

She caught his gaze and held it, pinning them both together as time stood still around them. He waited, afraid to move in case he broke the spell. "Oh!" she said at last - and this time, the voice was truly Elma. "Adam. What are you doing out there? Come in at once and take some tea with me. Poor boy, you look exhausted."

"I am," he breathed.

Following her into the apartment was like stepping into a furnace. For some reason, the heating was ramped up even higher than usual. The next thing he noticed was a familiar acrid smell that mingled with the ever-present cinnamon. He stiffened.

"Elma - is something burning?"

"Of course not. I'm just making some shortbread." She beamed at him. "Come and see. If it's ready, you can be my chief taster."

Adam forced a smile onto his face, but his heart was sinking as they stepped into the kitchen. The smell was even worse here, and he could just make out a trayful of blackened lumps through the glass of the oven door. "Oh, I'd say they're done alright..." he sighed.

Elma opened the oven and they both gagged. Threads of grey smoke spiralled out into the room; a silent warning of the danger that had almost overtaken them. Reaching past her, Adam turned the dial to zero and used a nearby tea-towel to protect his hand as he yanked out the tray and threw it straight into the sink. A stream of cold water turned the smoke into steam and the poor forgotten shortbread into charcoal soup.

"I don't understand..." Elma said in a small voice. Adam flung the kitchen window wide open. Over their heads, the smoke detector gave out a mournful series of chirrups - too little, too late. He climbed on a stool and turned it off as the steam drifted out to mingle with the haze of a New York afternoon.

"Could have happened to anyone," he reassured her.

"No." She frowned. "I never burn my cakes. Not since I was a girl. Ma taught me far too well for that... I must have... Maybe I got distracted..."

Pain was in her eyes. Adam's heart contracted. "Let's go sit down," he suggested. "When the smog clears, I'll clean that oven for you and we can make another batch. I like shortbread." His blue gaze was appealing but Elma shook her head.

"I don't think I want to any more." Turning her back on him, she shuffled out of the kitchen. He followed her, thinking quickly.

"Then let's get out of here. It's a beautiful day - look. We'll go to that new café on the next block - my treat."

Elma halted.

"No," she said again, and this time her voice was low. He watched the shallow rise and fall of her shoulders as she continued, too ashamed to look him in the face. "I don't go out. I thought you knew that, Adam. Beth-Anne is my lifeline. And you, of course..."

_And me._ Once again, that horrible flash of guilt. Some lifeline he had turned out to be. "I understand," he said gently, stepping forwards and leading her to her chair. "The city can be overwhelming, okay? I'm having a bit of a problem with it myself, right now..." _Selfish, Adam._ Elma didn't need to hear about some childish struggle with a doorknob. Clearly, her own fears went much deeper. "How long has it been?"

"Since I went outside this building?" She sat down slowly, dropping the last few inches to land with a soft 'thump' on the pile of cushions. "Five years."

Five _years._ Adam's world rocked. The shadow that toyed with him now and then had taken full hold of Elma. "What was the catalyst? I mean..."

"I know the term, thank you, Adam." He was pleased to hear her snap at him. The vigour in her tone was encouraging. "Five years ago, my David passed."

"Oh." Lost for words, Adam tried to convey his sympathy by sinking onto a nearby footstool and reaching for Elma's hand. They sat together in silence for a moment. Finally, she took a halting breath and continued. "For the last few years of his own life, this room was... well, his castle, you might say. He couldn't bring himself to venture from it. The world outside had changed far too much for his liking and he chose to hide himself away, wrapped in visions of the way things used to be. He kept me with him." A heavy sentence. Elma peered at Adam, anxious to see if he understood. "My only trips outside were for food and other supplies. One day, I came back to find my husband sleeping in this chair. I couldn't wake him..."

As she spoke, he called to mind the photograph from the last page of her album, and the picture of the weary, embittered old man who still held her captive even from beyond the grave. Into the picture, Elma hobbled, leaning over David's body with a look on her face that held both fear and wild relief. The same look that was on her face right now.

"His funeral was a quiet affair. We had no friends left by then. I came back and I stood in this room like a statue, just staring at his chair. I could hear his voice, you see."

"What did he say to you?" Elma's story was like a magic spell and it bound him tightly. He hardly dared to interrupt, but she seemed to welcome his question.

"He told me to guard his treasures."

Wrenching his gaze away for a moment, Adam stared around the room. So much clutter. So many links to the past. "That's what you meant, before," he said softly. "When you said that your husband's enemy was worry. He was..." The word seemed harsh and he could not bring himself to use it, tainted as it was by the reek of musty rooms and rusting padlocks. Elma finished the sentence for him.

"A miser. Yes." She nodded.

"But you're not."

"Only of memories," Elma sighed. "I value those highly, just as he did. To lose them would be death for me."

"Then why do you stay inside? I'm sorry - I don't..."

With a wisftul smile, she answered him. "I lost the desire to be with other people; strangers - out there. Lost my way, you might say. I let grief be my excuse, when really it was fear, I think. And once the fear took hold..."

Her words were like an echo in his soul. "But you've never been that way with me."

"You're different." Elma gave a timid smile, the first true one that Adam had seen since she opened the door. He felt a sudden flush of warmth and bent his head as she continued. "I feel safe with you, just like Beth-Anne. There's something - a kindness."

"Hey," he burst out, turning pinker by the second. "Stop that. You'll make my head swell. I'm a normal guy, that's all; nothing special. And okay, not normal, I guess - but really, I see that as a good thing..."

Her brown eyes wrinkled at the corners. "You're proving my point, young man; do you know that?"

Adam released her hand and rose stiffly to his feet, anxious to end the conversation now that it seemed to have doubled back on him.

"Tea, then?" he said hopefully. "My turn to make it this time."

"Yes, please. And I'll be giving you marks out of ten," Elma warned him. Her wheezing laughter followed him all the way back to the kitchen. Pushing aside the fluttering worries that clamoured for attention in his brain, he focussed on the happy sound and shot her an arch look over his shoulder.

"Challenge accepted," he said.

-xx-

**A/N: I'm still so amazed by the number of kind reviews that I've had for this story. Thank you very much. I've managed to get this chapter up early - hope you enjoyed it! Next chapter - back to the lab. Will things get better for our favourite lab tech now that he has finally had some rest..?**


	15. Chapter 15

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Fifteen**

_**"The place where you continually return for love and acceptance - that's home." (Richelle E. Goodrich)**_

Too many troubling thoughts made the night long and weary. Yet, when the new day dawned, it was beautiful. Spell-bound, Adam sat cross-legged on his rumpled bed and watched the city come alive in shades of pink and gold. Three hours of fitful sleep faded into insignificance as the sight lifted him; giving him the strength to rise, get dressed and take that final, terrifying step out of the building.

Which was how he came to find himself standing on the sidewalk, clutching a cereal bar from Stella's care package and trying not to think too hard about the journey ahead of him.

Driving to work was still out of the question. Never let it be said that Adam Ross didn't learn from his mistakes - well, most of them, anyway. The decision cost him, just as he knew it would. Focussing his gaze into a kind of tunnel vision, he made it all the way down the street to the subway station but the ride itself was a study in ice-cold fear. He held his panic at bay with a grim determination that would have put Mac Taylor to shame, and a technique inspired by the boss-man's own strategy. Setting an image of Haylen's beaming face between himself and the other passengers, he sparred with her silently to pass the time.

_Are you scared?_ she asked him.

_Fear is the mind-killer,_ Adam retorted.

_That's deep. _For an illusion, she seemed to be quite impressed, which made him feel guilty.

_Not my words, okay? I read it in a book when I was a kid and it stuck with me. I used to say it to myself... just sometimes, you know? Like a mantra._ He frowned, earning several hard stares from the passengers around him. _Hey - why am I telling you this? You're not real; you're in my head. Which means you know exactly what I __know, so stop playing dumb._

Haylen giggled. _Took you long enough. And just for the record - you are scared. I can feel it._

_Bite me._ Not the wittiest come-back, or even the most original, but it made Adam feel better. Peering straight through his floating nemesis, he flashed a smile at the young woman opposite, who ducked her head at once as if to say 'I wasn't staring...'

In fact, now that he glanced around, he could see that everyone was keeping their gaze diverted.

_Guess they think you're some kind of nut-job,_ Haylen whispered.

Adam swallowed. Wait... had he been talking aloud? Surely not?

With a look in her eye that said '_I_ know', his arch-enemy vanished.

For the rest of the journey, he sat in a stiff pose, afraid to move or even breathe. When the train reached his stop, he leapt up from his seat and fled.

Not the best start to the day. Nerves were trying to get the better of him, as usual. Which was crazy - he loved his work. Sometimes, the crime lab was more of a home to him than his apartment. There were rules and he understood them. There were people who cared for him, and most of all there was a father figure who had earned his honest admiration. Even so, coming back today felt uncannily like returning to school with the marks of his own father's anger concealed beneath his shirt. An age had passed for him when no one else was watching and he was a stranger because of it. Would they see that? Would they treat him differently? Or would life go on, just the same as it always did? He longed for the comfort that would bring; the routine, the smiles, the work that made him happiest of all because it drove the dark thoughts into the shadows where they belonged.

Like a minnow in a stream, he let the vibrant movement of the city thrust him onwards as he slipped from one current to the next with mindless ease. Better not to think about the sheer number of people around him. Better not to think about the hidden secrets locked inside each mind, or the eyes that might be following him...

"I'm goin' to work," he muttered to himself, a little out of breath from the jostling speed of the crowd. "Just goin' to work." And then, even more quietly, "Fear is the mind-killer."

_Fear cuts deeper than swords._

_The only thing we have to fear is fear itself..._

Over the years, his mantra had grown, patched together from different sources. One of many foolish rituals that he clung to. Did it help? Hard to say. But the repetition soothed him, even now, and when he passed through the glass doors and made his way to the elevator, just as he had done almost every day for the last four years, Adam felt much calmer.

The car bore him upwards and deposited him in the cool, wide hallway. After his frantic, tumbling journey, the lab itself felt quiet. He took in a deep breath of recycled air and sighed with relief. A passing tech nodded to him and he smiled back.

"Okay. Good..." he whispered. Apparently, he could do this.

Making his way to the locker room, he paused on the threshold. A sight met his eyes that was... well, it was unexpected, not to mention absurd. Doctor Hawkes was grovelling on the floor, his head down low, his rear in the air - and his back to the doorway. Adam swallowed the laughter that rose in his throat and stepped forwards.

"Problem?" he asked politely.

"Wha..?" Hawkes twitched in surprise and spun round, peering up at Adam like some kind of startled puppy. "Oh - it's you. Sorry." Springing to his feet, he clapped his hands together sharply. "Surprising amount of dust down there."

"So - what? You were cleaning it with your knees?" Confused, Adam pointed to the tell-tale smudges. Flustered, Hawkes looked down.

"No. I dropped the loose change from my pocket and it rolled right under the unit there - every cent. I can't get it out." He shrugged. "So much for my morning snack from the vending machine."

"You need some..? Oh!" Adam fished around inside his bag. Moments later, he brought out a sweaty fistful of coins. "See, they're always escaping in here. I can never keep track." He grinned. "Whenever I get a new bag, okay, I tip the old one upside down just to see how many... what's up?"

Hawkes was staring at the coins. "Hm? Nothing. Thank you, Adam. That's kind of you, but it won't do me any harm to curb my junk food habit for a day. Keep your money. You never know when you might need it."

"Okay..." Adam dropped the loose change back into his messenger bag and gave Hawkes a wary look. Catching his expression, the doctor smiled reassuringly - and then did a double-take, as something new occurred to him.

"Adam!"

"Ye-es...?"

"You're here, then."

"Um - yes. Yes, I am." _Here they come,_ he thought gloomily. The probing questions - the 'How-are-you-feeling?', the 'Are-you-sure-you-didn't-come-back-too-soon?'...

"Good to see you." Hawkes patted Adam gently on the arm as he passed by on the way out of the locker room.

Adam turned to watch him go with a sense of complete bewilderment.

"I've entered the Twilight Zone," he sighed.

-xx-

His first encounter with Mac was equally disconcerting. Stepping out of the elevator, fresh from an early morning crime scene, the detective caught sight of Adam and called him over.

Once again, he braced himself for a barrage of questions.

"Adam. You look like a lost soul. If you really can't find anything more constructive to do than lurk in the hallway, head on down to the evidence garage. I'll meet you there in ten minutes."

"Um... sure, boss. Evidence garage. I'm on it."

Mac gave a brief nod and strode past the lab tech, his measured footsteps bouncing off the glass walls. Adam felt strangely hollow. Was that it, then? Really? "Not that I wanted a ticker-tape parade or anything. But a 'welcome back, Adam' might have been nice'..." he murmured softly.

Unable to resist, he turned and stared after his boss. Mac turned too - and that was when Adam saw it.

He was smiling. Not a great big, cheesy smile - how weird would _that_ be? - but a merry little crease at the corner of his mouth and a twinkle in his eyes.

Suddenly, Adam's world felt a whole lot brighter. "See you in ten, boss," he called out, grinning in return. "Hey, and thanks, okay?"

"What for?" Mac said. How did he manage to look so innocent?

Adam shrugged. "Just... 'thanks'."

-xx-

The rest of his morning was perfect.

"So, hey, you picked the cherry, right boss? Great car... I mean, case. You think if I saved up for, like, a hundred years, I could score a sweet ride like this?" Adam said, as he ran his gloved hand down the bonnet of the shiny red Testarossa.

"Oh, you couldn't afford this one." Mac shook his head. "And I don't think you'd want it, either. It's a mule."

"You mean... like, sterile?" Confusion wrinkled the lab tech's brow.

"I mean like a drugs mule. According to Flack's informant, there's about two hundred thousand dollars worth of cocaine hidden somewhere in this beauty."

"Ah - the seedy side of glamour." Adam gave a regretful smile. "So the job is to find it? What does the winner get?"

"The chance to brag in front of his colleagues. I bumped into Danny and Lindsay on the way. They were more than a little... upset when I told them what was down here."

"Oooh. Guess they were busy, right?" Holding his hand in the air for a high-five, Adam dropped it quickly when he caught the vibe that none would be forthcoming. Mac's glare was steel and the lab tech buckled, slipping around to the other side of the Ferrari. He snapped his glove, liking the sharp sound that it made. So professional. "Where do you want me to start, boss?"

"You take the inside. Think you can manage?" Mac gave a meaningful glance at his shoulder. Adam's reply was heartfelt.

"I'll manage." True - bending down was still uncomfortable. But some things were worth a little pain. He opened the door and stuck his head through, breathing in the scent of _that_ guy's life. "Just out of interest, boss... what happened to the owner?"

"Flack has him down at the precinct. He's not in a good mood, apparently. Keeps calling for his lawyer. Something about a thousand dollar suit and a pile of garbage. And his innocence, of course."

Adam snorted. Flack did love his chases. And that flying tackle he did - that was pure gold. _If ever I become a proper CSI,_ he sighed, _I'll have to get him to teach me how to do that._

Yeah, right.

Shaking his head at the laughable thought, Adam reached for a flashlight and began to examine every inch of the sports car's interior. Vintage dials and manual transmission. Creamy leather seats so laid-back they were practically recliners - and the prancing horse logo emblazoned on the mats, of all places. "Wiping your feet in style..." he muttered. "Awesome."

As for the prize haul of cocaine, clearly that wasn't one of the special features on display but rather a hidden extra. Time to dig deeper, then. Glee fought with sadness and won. "Sorry, baby," he told the car, patting the driver's seat gently. "But face-lifts are all the rage now, you know."

"Did you just apologise to the Ferrari?" Mac's wry voice came floating through the open door, making Adam jump as he realised that the man was standing right behind him.

"Um... yeah," he admitted sheepishly. "Seems like kind of a travesty, that's all."

"No - the person who hid the drugs in the first place committed the travesty."

"That's true." Adam frowned as something new occurred to him. "Thing is, boss, this car still looks real good. Original features, gleaming finish..."

"Yes, I think we've firmly established that you like the car, Adam."

"No, what I mean is - maybe the perp couldn't bring himself to do a lot of damage when he hid the coke. Maybe he hid it somewhere... clever. Somewhere that didn't involve, you know - smashing." He winced.

"Then we'd better be clever too," Mac told him. "I've got the ATF canine unit coming in three hours. Let's see if we can't beat them to the prize."

"Woof," said Adam obligingly.

Ducking back inside the car, he considered his options. Where to start? That was the question. So many places to stash things, and most of them well-known to cops and ATF agents alike. Adam's gaze came to rest on the console in front of the passenger seat and he frowned. What if the perp had gone for a sneaky double bluff? What did they call that - hiding in plain sight? Checking that Mac wasn't watching this time, he yanked open the glove compartment and felt around inside, removing the random clutter as he did so and laying it on the seat. Take-out menus. Road maps. Tic-tacs in various flavours - but no giant stash of cocaine. "Well, okay, but you never know..." he muttered to himself. "And how dumb would _I_ look if Lassie found the drugs in there after I'd stripped the whole interior?"

Stripped.

Now there was a thought.

Setting down his flashlight, he picked up a carpet-knife. Was it his imagination, or did the Ferrari shudder...? Must be something that Mac was doing on the outside. Still: "I'll be gentle," he promised. "It's not my first car-topsy."

Just as he was wondering where to make his first incision - and whether it should be a 'Y', he thought, smirking - the mat in the passenger foot well caught his eye once more. With his free hand, he lifted it out of the way and laid it down on the concrete floor beside him. Then he reached back into the foot well. The knife hovered over the carpet. "I'll count to three," he whispered. "And I promise, you won't feel a thing..."

-xx-

"You did _what_?" Danny's jaw dropped. Nervously, Adam stepped back.

"We... we stripped it bare, okay? The drugs were everywhere, packed real thin. You know - under the carpet? Inside the seats and the ceiling, too. We cut it all open." He faltered. "Mac was pleased..."

"A 1988 Ferrari Testarossa? Adam. That's like slashing the Mona Lisa."

"But I don't understand," the lab tech protested. "We do this all the time - take cars and reduce them to nothing more than a pile of scrap metal. And... and nuts. And bolts. What about the 'Batmobile'? It was pretty amazing, right? But you guys stayed up all night and pulled it to pieces - I saw what you did."

"That was science," Danny corrected him. "This was a work of art. I'm in pain - I'm actually in pain. Just you wait till I tell Lindsay. Is it bad?"

"I'm not gonna lie to you," Adam said solemnly. "It's not good."

For a full minute, Danny continued to stare at him. Adam stared back, wide-eyed - until, suddenly, both men burst into peals of laughter.

"Kidding," Danny sang out. "Feel better? Get rid of all your frustration on the poor little innocent sports car, did you?"

"Much better - thanks for asking."

"Happy that you made me jealous?"

"Oh yeah."

"Want to come for lunch with me and my beloved wife?"

"What - so she can kick my ass for destroying a thing of beauty before you guys got to play with it too? No thanks." Adam grinned at his friend. "Besides, there's something else I need to do. Catch you later, okay?"

"Sure thing, buddy." Danny wheeled off, still shaking his head in mock-disbelief. Adam caught his muttered comment as it floated over his shoulder. "Too easy..."

"Thanks a lot," he yelled happily.

Man, it was good to be back.

-xx-

Lunch in the break room was a quiet affair. Adam took a laptop and settled in the corner, positioning the screen in a way that signalled his wish to be left alone for a while. He could have made use of the giant system in the AV lab, but it was busier than Grand Central Station in there right now - not to mention the fact that he was starving and food in the lab was a definite no-no. As he worked, he wolfed down a sandwich and then some of Elma's new batch of shortbread - or rather, his own. After scoring well in the tea-brewing challenge (eight out of ten, no less), Adam had finally wheedled his neighbour back into the kitchen with a sly request to learn some baking skills. Elma hadn't been able to resist, and the two of them had spent a happy evening together, making batch after wonky batch of golden biscuits. Baking was fun, he discovered, much to his surprise - kind of like a science experiment but with edible results.

Elma was also the subject of his private research. Sticking his flash drive into the laptop, he called up his favourite search engine and typed in the magic word: 'agoraphobia'. He spent a while skimming through different articles, slowing down whenever he caught sight of something interesting. "Five years," he murmured, as his eyes flicked up and down the screen, picking key phrases out of yards of waffle. He copied them carefully into a separate folder. Some of the facts, he already knew - the phobia's link to social situations, especially crowded, chaotic ones, and also its prevalence in women. What he longed to find more than anything else was a practical way to help his neighbour. A key that would open her prison door once and for all before she suffered the same fate as her husband. Eventually, he found the contact details for a local support group and a couple of doctors who specialised in cognitive therapy. That would have to do for now, he realised, catching sight of the time. His lunch break had extended way beyond an hour.

Adam saved his work hurriedly and removed the flash drive from its port before shutting down the laptop altogether. As he slipped off the stool, his aching body protested and he gave a tiny squeak. The car-topsy had been tremendous fun, but it had also crippled him. Sitting still for so long hadn't helped, either. Adam popped a pill and followed it down with a final piece of shortbread, crumpling up the empty foil and shoving it into his bag, along with the precious memory stick.

Anxious not to lose any more time, he wedged the laptop under his arm and scurried along to the locker room. Haste made him even clumsier than usual. As he struggled to cram the bulging messenger bag into his narrow locker, he lost his tenuous grip on the laptop. It tilted sideways, slipped from beneath his arm and dropped to the floor with a worrying 'crack'.

Uh-oh...

Adam gave a weary sigh and bent down to retrieve it. Standing up far too quickly, he caught his head on the corner of his locker door. For a moment, he saw stars. Then the door swung shut and he saw something else that made him doubt his senses even more.

"Oh my God," he whispered, shivering with fright. "That's not possible... How can that be _possible_?"

Scratched in the corner of the metal door, as small as a thumbnail and meant for no one else but him, was a single eye.

-xx-

**A/N: Adam's mantra comes from the following sources: 'Dune' by Frank Herbert, 'Game of Thrones' by George R. R. Martin and, lastly, FDR's inaugural speech. **

**All information regarding the Ferrari Testarossa comes from Wikipedia, Google Images... and Top Gear.**

**The 'Batmobile' car-topsy mentioned by Adam takes place in "You Only Die Once" (Season 4).**

**Thank you for reviewing, as always! More soon...**


	16. Chapter 16

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Sixteen**

_**"Angry people are not always wise." (Jane Austen, 'Pride and Prejudice')**_

Sinking down onto the nearby bench, he abandoned the laptop and tried to think clearly but it was hard. His sanctuary had been violated, which meant that nowhere was safe any more. One little picture had changed all that. Adam's heart beat rapidly and he gripped the edge of the bench with bone-white fingers, trying to ground himself in the physical world, since his mind was currently breaking apart like the universe exploding outwards.

They were here.

"No," he groaned. "They can't be." But who else would know about the eye? Pulling his thoughts back together with an effort, he ran through a list of names. Detective Flack. Stella. Lindsay. Danny. Mac...

A wretched giggle burst from his lips as he tried to picture his boss defacing his locker like some schoolyard bully. No way_. _No way in hell. These people were his friends and to think for even a second that they were capable...

He lowered his aching forehead into his hands.

In the darkness of his mind, Lindsay's face lingered, watching him carefully as she waited for the random pieces to connect. "You took the pictures," he told her at last. "I'll talk to you."

Easy to say. Much harder to do. When he rose from the bench, he found that his legs were shaking. "Stop that!" he ordered them fiercely - and they obeyed. Something buried long ago had escaped from deep within him. It was a feral emotion; little-used and, for that reason, hard to control.

Adam was angry.

Not irked or indignant, or slightly overwrought, but clenched so tightly that it made him ache all over. He spent his whole life trying to be a good man; taking the straight path through a twisted world. What right had anyone to treat him this way? To turn his fear into a joke for their own amusement? Worse than that - was it someone he saw here every day? Someone he worked with, and laughed with? Someone he trusted?

_Find them,_ an urgent voice whispered in his head. _Confront them..._

"I will," he muttered, stalking out of the locker room before his temper cooled and he changed his mind.

-xx-

"Adam! I heard you were back. Why didn't you come and see me sooner?" Lindsay spoke his name with fondness and moved towards him, arms outstretched - until a closer view of his face made her pause. "Wait - are you okay? Your cheeks are on fire."

"Oh - yeah. I'm fine. Mac had me working on that sports car all morning... didn't Danny tell you? Guess I'm a little sore now, is all. Just waiting for the meds to kick in." His smile was fake and they both knew it. Lindsay's brown eyes looked perturbed. "Hey," he said quickly, before she could argue with him. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything. But you should sit down first." She rolled a chair across to the layout table. Adam shook his head. Best not to linger. Adrenaline was making him twitchy and Lindsay had sharp eyes. If he sat down, she would be sure to notice. He hid the trembling of his hands by shoving them into his pockets. She frowned, but did not comment.

"The pictures you took at the crime scene and in the... in the..." Adam stammered to a halt. Why could he never finish? What, did he think that the words would turn around and bite him if he spat them out? He clenched his fists, unseen. "In the ambulance, okay? Of me and that... thing on my back. Did you show them to anyone? I mean, other than - you know - Mac and Danny and..."

"Adam!" This time, Lindsay's voice betrayed her shock. More than that, he could see it in her face as she stared at him, open-mouthed. "Why would you ask me something like that? Don't you trust me?"

He swallowed. Hurting Lindsay was more than he could bear. For a moment, he considered blurting out the truth. It lingered on his tongue, tasting bitter. "I..."

"No." Interrupting suddenly, she shook her head. "I'm sorry. Look, I shouldn't have snapped at you - that wasn't fair. Of course you trust me, Adam; just like I trust you. If you're asking, you must have a reason. I don't need to hear it," she added, holding up her hand. "The answer is 'no one'. Only the team - I promise."

He hated to push, but the urge was relentless. "Where did you look at the images?"

Lindsay bent her head and considered the question, studying him from beneath her lashes. "The conference room with Mac and Stella," she said at last. "Those were printouts. The AV lab with Danny, on the screen. We wanted to see if your wound matched any other eye motifs on the database - you know, like a gang tag or a cult symbol. No luck, though. It's just..."

"...an eye," Adam finished grimly. The AV lab. A memory stirred in his brain and he tried not to gasp as he finally made the connection. "Thanks, Lindsay."

She lifted her head and stepped closer. "Let me help you," she said quietly.

"No. This is my problem, okay? You said you wouldn't ask."

"I don't think I need to." Lindsay tried to hold his gaze, but he turned away. "Adam, be careful."

"Al-ways," he sang out, crossing his fingers in his pocket as he left his friend behind him and went in search of Haylen Becall.

-xx-

He found her at a quiet table leafing through a pile of books that held photographs and details from old cases - the kind that predated all their technology. "Good old-fashioned detective work," Flack liked to call it. Sometimes, Adam wondered if the man would have been happier in that era; striding around in a trench coat making his sarcastic quips and solving crime without the need for all that intimidating science.

"These are fascinating," Haylen said, lifting her head as he stepped into the room. "Have you seen them?"

"No. Yes." Adam felt rattled. "Haylen, we need to talk."

"I'm glad you came back today. Are you feeling better?"

"I... look, yes. I was, okay?" Frustrated by his useless stammering, Adam's anger took full control of his voice and suddenly the words were flowing freely. Startled, he let them. "Haylen, you told me you were hiding in the AV lab when Danny and Lindsay were discussing my attack."

"Not hiding." She frowned. "They just didn't see me, that's all. There's a difference."

Semantics. Adam gave a sharp laugh that sounded quite unlike him. "You saw the pictures, though, didn't you? I want the truth this time."

"I never lied to you, Adam. It's not my style." Taking a deep breath, she stood up and faced him squarely. "You don't like me very much, do you? I guess that's my fault, really - but I like you. No, not like that," she added hastily as his jaw dropped. "It's just... I can see what a nice guy you are - paranoid, but nice - and I would never want to cause you the kind of hurt I can see in your face right now. You should know that. Which is why I did exactly what I said. I stopped listening to their conversation and I left the room."

"You didn't see the eye?"

"What eye?"

Dismayed as he was by her statement, there was no denying it - her voice rang with conviction.

"Never mind," he mumbled, turning to leave. Disappointment mingled with relief. It wasn't Haylen after all - and, oddly, he was glad.

She came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder, making him flinch. "What is it, Adam?" she asked him. "Can't you tell me?"

Once again, the need to share was almost overwhelming. Adam shook his head and pressed his lips together as shame bound his tongue.

"No problem," he said at last, when he was able. "I just need to find out who else might have seen those pictures."

"Did you try asking Richard?" Haylen's face was thoughtful.

"Richard _Polson_?"

"Yes. I told you - we were there together. I left, but he kept on working. Maybe he knows what you're talking about."

Oh, God. There it was - the answer. Why hadn't he seen it from the start? "Yes," said Adam. "I kinda think he does." He bobbed his head in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Haylen." The phrase was difficult to say, but he had made a bad mistake and, however annoying she was, right now she deserved his good opinion.

Haylen nodded. Wheels were turning behind her eyes. "You'll find him in Storeroom B," she said. "He's stock-taking all day today. Some kind of punishment, I gather..."

-xx-

Adam peered up and down the corridor but nobody was watching him. Now that the moment was here, he tried not to think about the fact that this was one of the craziest things he'd ever done, and liable to get him fired. Driven by the fading remnants of his anger, he slipped inside and closed the door behind him. The store-room smelled of dust and body odour. Tiers of metal shelving rose from floor to ceiling in heavy stacks, piled high with obsolete equipment. There was no sign of Richard Polson.

"Show your face, you coward," he breathed.

The lab tech stepped out from behind a shelf. His smile was infuriating. "Coward? Surely that's you, Ross? Or have you developed a spine in the last few days, when no one was looking?" Moving forward, he pretended to glance over Adam's shoulder. "Nope..."

"Okay, you know what? Your jokes stink even worse than you do." Adam wrinkled his nose in disgust. "And the last one? That wasn't funny either."

"Oh - and which one would that be? The one that got me put on a week's worth of duties so anal they'd bore even _you_ to death?" The casual voice didn't fool Adam. He could hear the hint of menace.

"Hey, no... wait, you're calling that a _joke _now? You told Mac it never happened - that you left the room before I spilled the powder. Tell me in what sick universe that's meant to be funny, 'cause really, I don't... You made me think I was crazy!"

"That's no great achievement." Richard shrugged. "Everyone knows it - don't you get that? Knew it from the moment you arrived here, with your pointless jabber and your twitchy little ways. What a loser."

Clenching his teeth, Adam tried to haul the conversation back on track. "I don't care," he lied. "That's their opinion. Don't suppose they like you either, all that much. And no; I'm not talking about the other day, okay? I'm talking about my locker. You did that - I know you did."

"Oooh, high school flashback." Richard's mocking tone was almost more than he could bear. Adam looked into his eyes and saw the truth. A boiling surge of emotion rose up inside him and he used that strength to propel the man backwards, smashing him into the wall of the storeroom.

"Say it," he urged. "Say you did it. Tell me why..."

"I'm impressed," Richard said, though he was clearly shaken by Adam's uncharacteristic reaction. He held up his hands in mock-surrender, his back still pressed against the wall, his dark eyes shifting from side to side. "Crime Scene Barbie gave the game away, didn't she? What makes you think she wasn't part of it?"

"Easy. She's not _you_."

Richard swelled out his chest and used both arms to break free of Adam's grip. "Much better," he said, looming over his foe. "Now, what were we talking about?"

"You were going to tell me why you scratched that eye on my locker."

"No," said the lab tech. "I wasn't."

Adam's face became frighteningly blank. "Then I guess our conversation's over," he said. With a tiny shrug, he turned away - only to swing back, arching his fist in front of him and driving it into the middle of Richard's leering face.

The blow stunned both of them. Richard dropped to the floor in a whimpering heap of pain. Adam stood above him, clutching his hand as the storeroom spun in a lazy circle and all his anger drained away like dirty water down a plughole.

"If you run to Mac," he whispered, "I'll tell him why I did it - and he'll believe me. This is over now, okay? Don't you ever come near me again."

His own act had broken him far more than Richard's spite ever could. Dark-eyed and grieving, he fled.

-xx-

**A/N: I've had so many lovely PMs and reviews this week - thank you!**

**Hope you enjoyed this early update. More soon...**


	17. Chapter 17

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Seventeen**

_**"Be hole, be dust, be dream, be wind,  
**__**Be night, be dark, be wish, be mind,  
**__**Now slip, now slide, now move unseen,  
**__**Above, beneath, betwixt, between."  
**__**(Neil Gaiman, 'The Graveyard Book')**_

Five... six... seven... eight... nine pens in the pot on Mac's desk. Adam sat and stared at them, absorbed by the tiny reflections in their silver barrels.

"Adam."

"Yes, boss."

"Are you with me?"

"Yes, boss."

Gently, this time. "Are you sure?"

Adam lifted his eyes. "I'm good. You wanted to talk to me about something?"

Strange. Today, it was Mac who seemed unsettled - nervous, even. Meanwhile, Adam felt calm.

Four, five... six buttons on the boss's shirt, though the top one was open.

Mac leaned forward. Folding his arms, he rested them on the desk in front of him and frowned as he studied Adam. _Like a piece of evidence..._

"Your lab work this past week has been exemplary. In fact, I'm putting a note of commendation in your file for the break you gave us on the Jenkins case."

"Thanks, boss."

"I know you take this job seriously, Adam, but really - I've never seen you display so much focus." Mac threw in a question from left field. "How's your shoulder?"

"It's good. I don't need the painkillers any more." Truth was, Adam had dumped the whole bottle after that scene in the...

_No._

_Don't go there._

But the mind was a fickle thing and, already, he could recall the whoosh of his fist and the fiery adrenaline that was an unwanted gift from his father. Had the painkillers loosened his inhibitions? He couldn't be certain - and, even more importantly, he couldn't take the chance that it might happen again.

A tiny pulse began to twitch in his cheek. So much for feeling calm. He tried to slow it down, hating its intrusive presence.

One, two...

Three, four...

"Five," he burst out.

"Five?" Mac said, puzzled.

"Days without 'em now," Adam lied, trying not to look at the pile of unsolved cases on the edge of Mac's desk. All five of them.

"I'm glad to hear it. And you've had no... trouble?"

"Trouble?" Adam swallowed. Had he found out already? This was Mac, after all. He didn't think Richard had talked, but the boss-man's ability to _know_ things was uncanny.

Not this time, however.

"Out there. When you're travelling to and from work? You don't feel like anyone's following you, for example?"

_Laugh. Go on - just an easy chuckle._

The sound that came out was more of a squeak, but Adam continued bravely. "Nah. It's all good." Truth was, he spent every journey - every day, in fact - trying to perfect the art of being invisible. Adam the Ghost. _If they don't see you, they can't hurt you..._

_And you can't hurt them._

He blocked the guilt and focussed on the people passing by Mac's window. One, two... three...

"I'm relieved to hear it." Mac stood up and came around the desk to stand beside him. Adam rose too. Was the conversation over? If so, it had been surprisingly painless.

Stella knocked on the glass door and Mac waved her in, before turning back. "Find Sheldon," he said. "I need you to go with him on a case. Body dump. You think you can handle it? Everyone else is tied up right now, and it might do you good to get out of here for a while. You know - fresh air?" He smiled, to let Adam know that he was joking. "The real world?"

"That's funny, boss." Adam almost stumbled over the chair in his haste to leave. Safely in the corridor, he moved past the window but lingered next to the wall, captured by the unexpected sound of his name being spoken aloud.

"I've never known Adam so quiet."

"Stella, he's been through a bad experience. You know how hard it is to bounce back from something like that."

"I do." Her voice was muffled, but heartfelt. "But Mac - it's _Adam_ we're talking about; the man who takes 'bouncing back' to a whole new level. This feels different somehow."

There was a pause. Adam spent the time arguing with himself about the morality of listening in to other people's conversations - even if they were about him. _Especially _if they were about him. Before he could arrive at a conclusion, Mac went on.

"You think I don't know that? Talking to him just now... I'm not even sure he was with me."

"How's his work?"

"I can't fault it. Not in the lab, at any rate."

"Not in the lab. Wait - is that why you're sending him out on an easy run with Sheldon? To test him? And what if he fails?"

Adam's breath caught in his throat. He had overheard too much and suddenly he knew that he didn't want to hear Mac's answer, or anything else that his two colleagues had to say.

With a weary cast to his shoulders and a carefully blank expression, he shuffled away in search of Dr. Hawkes; just another lab tech in a white coat.

-xx-

The Avalanche moved steadily through the busy streets. Rush hour was always crazy, but Hawkes had a knack for picking the best routes. Adam closed his eyes and let the flick-flick-flick of the passing tail-lights play on his eyelids like a magic lantern. It was hypnotic. He could feel himself drifting off and he didn't even care.

"Adam."

"Yes, boss?"

A deep chuckle. "Thanks for that, but you don't have to call me 'boss'. 'Hawkes' will do. Or - you know what? - we're friends, aren't we? How about Sheldon?"

"Oh." He flushed at his mistake... and then worked his way through the rest of the doctor's cheerful speech. Unexpected. "Okay, thanks. Then I guess you can call me..."

"Adam. I know."

"Oh, yeah. Joke," he offered hopefully and went back to staring out of the window.

"Nearly there," Hawkes said, moments later.

Adam roused himself with an effort. More talking. Okay, he could do that. _Why am I still so tired?_ he wondered obliquely. For the past week, he had struggled to create a steady routine - up early, sensible breakfast. Long day at work, come home, spend time with Elma. Sensible supper and then off to bed, so promptly that he found himself lying awake for hours before sleep took him. And yet...

And yet, he felt so weary that it was all he could do to concentrate on the simplest things these days. His focus - the subject of Mac's admiration - was really the outward sign of a pig-headed effort to hide his exhaustion and keep going at all costs. As if they could sense his weakness, the bad thoughts kept on trying to slip through his defences. He blocked them as well as he could. As for keeping a low profile, that was easy when your energy was slowly sinking through your sneakers and pooling on the floor around you.

Wait - go back. Hawkes had spoken. Adam turned around and saw a pair of dark eyes watching him.

"Shouldn't you be looking at the road?" he said.

"I can do both." As if to prove his statement, the doctor glanced ahead and then in the rear-view mirror before easing to a halt. "We're stuck in a queue - see?"

"What:? Oh, yes... I knew that." He sighed and let go, just a little. "Please don't stare at me, okay?"

To his credit, Hawkes didn't deny it. "Like I said, we're friends. I'm worried about you."

"Then you're not spying on me for Mac?" As soon as he said the words, Adam regretted them. Hawkes drew back as if he'd been stung. "You are!"

"No, Adam. All I'm doing here is driving us both to a crime scene. But..." Hawkes paused as if to consider the wisdom of his next remark. At last, he continued. "You do know that talking helps, right?"

"Of course. Because everyone shares at the crime lab these days," Adam said in a low voice. He turned his face back to the window. One... two... three yellow cabs in the queue beside them... "Sorry," he added. "That was uncalled for, okay? Yes, I know it does, Hawkes, but you don't need to worry. I'm fine. There's nothing to talk about."

"Sheldon," the doctor insisted.

"Sheldon." _Whatever._

He peered through the centre of his own reflection. The old lady hobbling down the street looked exactly like Elma. Adam watched her struggle for a while. She had two heavy bags of shopping and a look of pained resignation on her face. People passed by, unseeing. As she stopped to adjust her load, Adam's heart contracted. Part of him wanted to leap out and help her; an urge so strong that his fingers actually brushed the handle - but just as they did so, the knot of traffic loosened and Hawkes pulled away. Adam sat back, feeling guilty and not really understanding why.

Two blocks later, they reached the crime scene. There was an officer waiting. He smiled at them both and the grin made his baby-face seem even wider.

"You're here," he said.

"New York's finest," Hawkes muttered in Adam's ear, clearly hoping for a chuckle and looking quite disappointed when he didn't get one.

"This way," the officer continued, oblivious. "Wallace," he added as he steered them down a narrow alley that split two dingy apartment blocks right down the middle. "That's me, okay?"

"Hawkes. And Ross. This your first scene, Wallace?"

Adam was happy for his colleague to do all the talking. As the high walls closed in around them, he tried to focus on the tread of his footsteps, the sound of his breathing - anything that would distract him from the scene itself. The alley was unfamiliar, and yet he knew it all too well. It had haunted his dreams for more than a week. He half-expected to see a small boy beside him, or a hooded figure watching from a distance. Instead, there was only Doctor Hawkes and the fresh-faced officer, Wallace.

"No, sir. I'm not a rookie, sir. What gave you that impression?"

Caught in the net of his own assumptions, Hawkes changed the subject quickly. "Just making small talk. So now - tell us about the body?"

"Homeless would be my guess. Died somewhere else and then dumped here. You can see that she's been dragged." Wallace halted and looked down. Adam followed his gaze and saw a sight that was so forlorn, it made him want to cry. He crouched beside her in the gloom and studied the pinched white cheeks; the long dark hair that was matted and tangled now but surely would have been this young woman's glory not so very long ago. Her clothes were well-made but worn at the seams. Her shoes were scuffed and dirty, and did not belong somehow. A random find or a trade, perhaps, when her own fell apart?

Her arms were raised above her head and twin lines scored the mud beyond her feet. Her legs were twisted and her neck was badly broken. A china doll, discarded. "I'm so sorry," Adam told her softly.

"Checking for track marks." Hawkes had settled down beside him, focussing his flashlight. The doctor's first act was to roll up her sleeves. More assumptions, Adam thought - yet there they were, a sad clue to her fate. This was a familiar story.

"Overdose?" he asked. "Or maybe she was..." _Attacked. _Go on, say it. Hawkes was waiting patiently. Not fair - the man saw too much. Adam frowned and stood up stiffly. "Why don't I look round for trace?" he said. "I mean, you're the doctor here, right? Studying people is your thing." _Studying them... spying on them..._

"Good idea." If Hawkes knew what Adam was really thinking, he didn't show it. "Officer Wallace, if you could establish a perimeter?" He tossed him a roll of black and yellow tape. "Both ends of the alley, I suspect - though Ross will confirm that."

Stepping away from the body, Adam found an unobtrusive place to settle his kit. He popped the top and rooted around for his own flashlight. Then, steadily, he followed the drag marks from the victim all the way to the end of the alley. The sky was dark by now but here on the edge of the well-lit street, he would never have known it without glancing upwards. In front of him, people scurried to and fro. Some pointedly ignored him, but some tried to gawp as Wallace strung the tape from one building to the next; a gaudy gateway to a tragic scene.

"Wait," Adam told him. "Let me pass."

The drag lines ended where the dirt met the sidewalk, but Adam was thorough and, more to the point, victims didn't just drop into alleyways out of nowhere. Leaving the shadows, he planted his feet firmly, claiming his position as passers-by swerved to avoid him.

"I already checked before you came. There's no blood or footprints." Wallace was watching him, full of curiosity.

"Okay..." Adam murmured, barely listening. The empty space around him grew wider, as though he were trapped in an ever-expanding bubble. Starting low, he trained his flashlight on the weeds, the rolling litter, the concrete... was that a scuff-mark?

A scent stole over him like a memory, carried by the warm breath of the city; sharp and thick, like chemicals mixed with sweat.

Fear sent prickles chasing up and down his skin.

Adam looked up - and there they were in the distance; the dark figures that had been watching all along. He sprang to his feet, calling out to Wallace as he set off running. "Come on! Quick!"

Wallace hesitated for a second and then followed after him in a heavy, loping manner that had no speed or grace to it whatsoever. Adam's own pace was almost faster than his feet could cope with. Driven by an uncontrollable sense of urgency, he pelted along the street and wheeled around the corner. The two hooded figures were still so far ahead that he began to despair of catching them. "Useless," he groaned, between wrenching gasps for air. Neither Wallace nor he was equipped for this chase. In any other circumstance, it would have been laughable. Not today. Today, he felt like screaming.

A movie theatre loomed into view like a shining mirage. Crowds were already swelling at its doors, creating a blockage that made Adam's heart leap. Surely that would slow his quarry down?

But the very next moment, he stumbled to a halt in absolute shock.

They hadn't slowed down. They had disappeared completely.

Not by ducking into a sidestreet, or an open door. Not by diving into a random huddle of people. The two hooded figures had simply... ceased to be.

And now, for the first time, Adam truly began to doubt his sanity. He was chasing an illusion through the streets of Manhattan. Worse than that, he had dragged Wallace with him - which meant that he had a witness to his bewildered state of mind.

"Lost 'em?" Wallace panted, staggering towards him. "Who were we chasing, anyway?"

Adam couldn't answer. He stared at the crowd of movie-goers with a look of horror on his face.

"They go in there or something?" The officer seemed hopeful. "I could flash my badge. Initiate a search."

"No!" The word burst out of him and, at last, he turned around. "It's too late. I thought I saw... but maybe I didn't, okay...?"

"Maybe you didn't...?" Wallace began to sound a little uncomfortable. Part of that was due to his ragged breathing, but most of it was based on Adam's highly suspicious behaviour. "You're telling me this was some kind of a... what, a wild goose chase? I thought you CSI guys were too smart to jump at shadows."

_That's what I did,_ he thought bleakly. Somehow, he had let his nightmares bleed out into reality, to the point where he couldn't tell one from the other. _Am I dreaming now...?_

"Crazy geek," the officer muttered. Adam flinched.

Running back was out of the question. Their spirits and their stamina were far too low. The nearer they trudged to the crime scene, the more Adam fell behind. If Hawkes _was_ a spy for Mac - a theory he had only half-believed, but one that seemed like an absolute certainty now - then this little story could only have one outcome. _They'll never let me out of the lab again,_ he sighed. A prison sentence.

Head low, he watched the cracks as his feet stepped over them. Why tempt fate? Bad luck was dogging him already; he certainly didn't need more.

He was vaguely aware of Wallace turning into the alleyway. Looking up, he saw that the street around them was much quieter now. So quiet, in fact, that the officer's sudden cry ricocheted off the walls and was multiplied tenfold.

"NYPD! Hey! Get off him!" Wallace yelled.

Adam froze.


	18. Chapter 18

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Eighteen**

_**"We are more severe judges of our own acts." (Anaïs Nin, 'A Spy in the House of Love')**_

What happened next was even more alarming. Two shots rang out simultaneously; their echoes rolling down the alleyway towards him. Adam jumped so high that he overbalanced and slammed into the wall. He pressed against the brickwork, trembling - until his brain finished processing the situation; an act which took mere seconds but which felt like a lifetime.

Deep down, he already knew what his choice should be. There was no other way to tell what had happened; not really. At this very moment, Dr. Hawkes - Sheldon - could be lying on the ground, bleeding out from a gunshot wound. Bleeding to death...

"Coward," Adam accused himself. "You need to look. Do it _now_."

Urgent voices, and a muffled cry of pain. Footsteps, running. He held his breath and peered round the corner.

Oh, God.

The nightmare was back - and this time it was almost upon him. A hooded figure, tall and lean with flashes of blond hair, straight from his darkest dreams. Was it real or imaginary?

_Doesn't matter._ Adam pulled back out of sight, wishing he was armed and even slightly dangerous. A proper hero, like Detective Flack; not some crazy lab rat who had just spent a whole week agonising over a single act of violence. In vain, he checked his pockets but all he found was his cell phone and a flashlight. His mind raced, trying to find a solution as the pounding grew closer. "_Oh_god_oh_god_oh_god..."

A split second before it was too late, Adam went with pure instinct and stuck out his foot blindly. Somehow, it connected and he squealed in shock as momentum took over and slammed the fleeing perp head first into the sidewalk.

Adam dropped to his knees, effectively pinning his captive to the ground. He tried not to focus on where he had learned the technique. Fishing out his flashlight, he jammed the base against the black hood and the skull beneath it. "That's a gun, okay?" he lied breathlessly. "So don't even think about moving."

A muffled groan escaped from the twisted hood.

"Did I hurt you?" Adam was riding high on adrenaline by now. His voice held no sympathy and only a trace of guilt for his action. _You reap what you sow..._ "Then I guess we're even, right?"

Distracted by a second, halting set of footsteps behind him he turned and saw Wallace. There was blood running down the officer's arm from a hole in his shirt sleeve. His face was drained of all colour and his eyes were dark pits into his soul.

"Where's Hawkes?" Adam gasped, his triumph fading. "What happened back there? Tell me!"

"She had his gun. She... I... I don't think she meant... I just pulled the trigger."

Adam knew shock when he heard it. Wallace stood there numbly, unable to find the words he needed.

"Cuffs," Adam ordered.

"What...?"

"Give me your handcuffs. Or, wait - look, you do it. Stay with the perp and I'll go check on Hawkes."

"Who...?" Wallace mumbled.

"The doc. He's hurt, right?"

"Oh. No - the girl..." With a catch in his voice, the officer locked his gaze on Adam and sent such a look of despair crashing through him that the shared sense of devastation was like a blow to his gut. "I shot the girl. I'm so sorry..."

"No," Adam told him. "This isn't your fault, okay?"

_It's mine..._

-xx-

"You did good," Flack said. He stood beside the Avalanche, grinning at Adam who sat on the back seat, legs dangling outwards.

Praise. He spent his life yearning for it. How pathetic was that? Adam watched the detective's lips move; heard the words come out - and left them hanging in the air. _I can't accept them._ His own mouth refused to work. It felt as though his jaw had frozen solid and he stared at Flack with troubled eyes.

"I'm not kiddin' you, Ross. Bringin' down a suspect - that takes stones and you got 'em, buddy. I'll say it; I'm impressed."

A loose thread stood out on Flack's sweater. Adam resisted the urge to pull it.

"Not talkin', huh? Okay, I get that, really I do. Tell you what. You stay quiet, take some time. I'll go see if the paramedic's done with Hawkes and Wallace. Get the DL on what happened. And don't worry - soon as Mac gets here, I'll point him in your direction." Flack's smile was softer, kinder than before. "I'm guessin' he'll be proud of you too."

Adam watched the detective walk away. He felt cold and confused. Flashing lights were everywhere; and people - too many people. Tucking his legs inside the car, he hugged himself tightly for a while, in an effort to find some warmth, but the tremors persisted. _Now who's in shock?_ his brain offered helpfully.

There was a squad car next to the Avalanche, parked at a hasty angle that blocked the road entirely. Peering sideways, Adam caught a glimpse of blond hair and a scowling face...

_The situation was impossible. Wallace couldn't hold the suspect; that much was clear by now. And yet, the urge to see Hawkes with his own eyes was so strong that Adam began to rise. As he did so, the flashlight shifted and his captive turned._

_A mask of blood. A matted fringe of hair. And two baleful eyes; their pupils blown wide._

_All wrong, again. Another illusion shattered._

_The hooded stranger was a man._

_"I'm gon' sue you," he grumbled to Adam. "Broke my face..."_

In the back of the squad car, the suspect pressed his nose against the window, leering at his foe. The sight was monstrous. Adam jerked back and scrambled out of the Avalanche altogether, startling a passing uni who gave him a wary look before moving on quickly.

The brightest light of all belonged to a nearby ambulance. Drawn by its glow, Adam stumbled towards it. _Hawkes, _he thought. _Sheldon..._ _Need to apologise..._

Perched on a gurney, the doctor seemed just as stunned as he was; twitchy, and out of phase with his surroundings. His eyes stared off into the distance. There was blood on his hands and his clothing but none of it belonged to him...

_Between them, somehow, Adam and Wallace managed to handcuff their captive. The officer took Adam's place on top of him, sitting down heavily. "Call for help," Adam told him, pointing to the radio._

_Wallace gave a dull shrug in acknowledgement. Not waiting to see if he managed to follow that simple instruction, Adam turned his face to the alleyway. Darkness beckoned, waiting to swallow him alive._

_'I don't want to,' said a small voice deep inside him._

_"It's okay," he lied. "The monsters are gone." Not true. The monsters had evolved, as they always did, and now they lived in his head. Or had they been there all along?_

_"Hawkes?" he called out softly, turning on his flashlight. The thin beam cut through the darkness like a blade. Its twin shone in the distance. Adam moved towards it. "Hawkes?" he called again._

_"I told you," the doctor sighed wearily. "Call me Sheldon."_

_Humour, Adam thought. Why do we do that? Cover our pain with a smile..._

_Truth be told, he was equally guilty - and yet, right now, he couldn't think of a single bright thing to say. "Are you hurt?" he asked solemnly, reaching Sheldon's side at last. The beam of his flashlight spun round and down, catching the doctor's bleak expression before moving on to reveal the girl who lay at his feet, a pale new friend for the corpse that had brought them here._

_"Defensive wounds. They caught me by surprise but I managed to hold them off until..." Blinking, Sheldon took a deep breath and changed the subject. "Where were you?"_

_Adam faltered. His voice dried up in his throat. "I... I..."_

_Sheldon didn't seem to notice. "She's dead, you know," he offered suddenly, in a dull voice. "Bullet tore right through her chest. I tried... but I couldn't..." He shook his head. "Wallace may be green but he's a crack shot. What happened to the other one?"_

_Mutely, Adam pointed back towards the street._

_"You caught him?"_

_Adam nodded._

_"By yourself?"_

_He wasn't offended by Sheldon's tone. He knew that what he really deserved was condemnation. Or maybe a psych ward. No doubt Mac would decide._

_The wail of a siren made both men shiver..._

Adam was about to take a step in Sheldon's direction when he saw Mac's SUV pull up. Now he was torn. The urge to confess straight away warred with his baser instinct for self-preservation. As Flack hurried over, the lab tech slipped around the back of the Avalanche. There, he could hear and observe without being seen. No harm in finding out the prevailing mood before he gave himself up and made things ten times worse.

"Tell me," Mac said, before his feet had even hit the sidewalk.

Flack nodded. Straight down to business - that was an approach both men understood. "One down - but not one of ours, okay? Beyond that, there's not much to tell, as it stands," he began, pulling out his notebook. "I tried to question Ross but he ain't talkin' - ask me, he's in shock. As for Wallace, he ain't much better, but at least I got a few facts outta him before the bus took him away. Put that together with the doc's story and you've got the bare bones, at least. Make of 'em what you will."

"Go on."

"Okay. So, according to the doc, Ross and Wallace were settin' up a perimeter while he stayed with the vic. Next thing, according to Wallace's tale, your lab guy jumps up like he's seen a ghost or something and tears off down the street, yellin' out for backup."

"Meaning Wallace followed him?"

"All the way to the Regal - you know, the movie theatre? Next part's a little hazy. Ross stopped running and they turned back. Wallace couldn't - or wouldn't - go into detail. An' like I said, Ross ain't talkin'."

"He left the scene and took the officer with him - and you don't know why?"

"That's about the size of it."

Mac's voice was low but his words still carried. "Then he'd better have a damn good reason."

"Come on, Mac. I'm sure he does. I know, I know, he's a little crazy sometimes - but he's smart as a whip. You trust him, right?"

"I did." Mac sighed. "Ask me a fortnight ago and I'd have said 'no question'. Right now, I'm not so sure. Something's off, Don. I can't put my finger on it... This is my fault, really."

"How so?"

"I should never have sent him out here in the first place."

Adam's head was aching. He dropped it against the rear window, letting the cold sting of the glass bleed inwards through his skull.

_You trust him, right?_

_I did..._

Sounding more than a little uncomfortable by now, Flack went back to his story. "Hawkes was in the alley by himself at this point. He didn't know that, of course, so he wasn't suspicious when someone came up behind him. First off, he assumed it was Ross. Then he turned..."

"And got the shock of his life," Mac said.

"More like a boot to his ribcage." Flack winced. "The doc's no pushover, though. Refused to let 'em pin him down. Guess he knew his number would be up if that happened. Or he was countin' on some backup."

_You trust him..._

_I did..._

"How long?" Mac demanded grimly.

"Long enough for the girl to snatch his sidearm and threaten him with it, just as Wallace appeared on the scene." Flack sighed. "Look, Mac - I know the doc was in two minds about carrying a gun. 'First do no harm' - that's pretty cut and dried as ethics go."

"I made that call and I take full responsibility for it. After the shooting in the bar... well, I wasn't going to send any of my team out onto the streets again without protection. Hawkes aced the training - top marks in every category - and his knowledge of firearms is excellent."

"Okay - but what about Ross? He's just a lab tech, right? The only way he gets to fire a gun is into a tank, or a big block of jello..." Flack's question was tentative. Adam stiffened.

"He knows the drill. If you don't have a weapon, stick with the guys that do."

"Can't fault him for that," the detective muttered. "He caught the suspect, though. That's gotta count for somethin'."

"Yes, it does. But leaving Hawkes alone without a word..." Mac shook his head.

No need to say any more, Adam thought. The implication was clear. By his own actions, he had put his colleague's life at risk.

"You gonna talk to him now? He's in the Avalanche, waiting."

"Not here. It's not a conversation I want to have in a public place. I'll send him back to the lab in one of the squad cars. He can wait for me there. Find his voice..."

"You gonna yell?" Flack asked him, quietly. "'Cause I'm thinking that won't help."

"I'll deal with my own man as I see fit, detective." Mac's voice was sharp and Adam quailed. If the boss-man was so pissed that he was being snarky with his friend, then there was no hope left for _him._ And deservedly so. He had acted like a fool - worse than that, a crazy person - and he knew that it was only a matter of time before the axe fell.

Slipping round the Avalanche like a shadow, he climbed up into the back seat and folded his hands together on his lap.

_You trust him, right?_

_I did..._

Nine... ten... eleven silver droplets settled on the window as the rain began to fall...

-xx-

**A/N: As always, I can't thank you enough for your thoughtful and entertaining reviews! I promise that all of your questions will be answered before the end! ****I'm also grateful to 2NYwLove for her helpful PM, and to 1917farmgirl for her constant encouragement.**

**Hope you enjoyed this update. More soon!**


	19. Chapter 19

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Nineteen**

_**"The sound of the gentle rattle of china cup on china saucer drives away all demons, a little-known fact." (Terry Pratchett, 'Snuff')**_

"Mr. Ross! It's not often we see you down here. What brings you to the underworld this evening?" Sid's face broke out in a smile that lifted his tired eyes.

"Oh. Ah... I don't know."

"Something I can do for you, perhaps?"

"I don't know," Adam murmured. And the truth was, he didn't.

Arriving in the back of a squad car like a common criminal, he had fully intended to head for the lab, just as Mac had instructed. The boss-man would certainly expect to find him in his office when he returned. And yet...

And yet something - an impulse - had brought him here instead. He wished that his feet could explain it to his brain. At least his voice was working again, however dull-witted it made him appear to be.

Sid clicked his glasses into place and studied Adam as the lab tech hovered in the doorway.

"There's a seat in my office," he said. "And tea. You look as though you need it. Follow me."

Safe in the relative privacy of Sid's domain, Adam allowed himself a tiny sigh. Dropping heavily onto the chair, he gazed up at the grey-haired M.E. Their paths rarely crossed but, even so, Adam had always considered him to be a friend. A kindred spirit, whose quirky anecdotes and random segues were the key to his deeper, more passionate nature. Life and Sid were locked together in a spirited tango, whirling between joy and sadness as they traced the complex pattern of their dance.

"Assam - my personal favourite. Not everyone's... well, 'cup of tea', I'm afraid, so please don't think I'll be offended if you quietly leave it to cool and 'forget' to drink it." Sid's eyes twinkled as he held out a china mug.

The drink was almost too hot to hold. It stung Adam's hands but he held on, liking the warmth and the not-quite-pain that drew him back towards reality. 'Don't Panic, Put the Kettle On,' the mug advised him. "Thanks. And it's okay. I'm a bit of an expert these days."

Sid raised his eyebrows. "Surprising. Well, good for you. I tried for years to win Mac over. If ever there was a man who needed tea in his life..." He grinned. "But I digress." Perching on the edge of his desk, he folded his arms. "Your turn."

Adam sipped his tea. It was strong and bold, not like Elma's gentle brew at all. "My turn for what?"

"Conversation."

"I don't... I mean, no thanks; I'm not in the mood for talking. Just tea," he said hopefully.

"I'm not asking. And I don't mean idle chit-chat. What - you don't think a coroner can see when someone's hurting? I may work with the dead, but I'm not blind to the living. Spill it, Adam Ross, or I'll drag you straight to Mac and _he_ can make you talk. Don't think I won't do it." The jest was an ominous one. At least, he hoped it was a jest - Sid's face was very determined.

"It's just..." Adam halted, feeling the all-too-familiar surge of panic. Weakened by tea and sympathy, his walls were beginning to fail. A tidal wave of pressure seethed behind them. One more word and the dam would burst; he knew it. Control was an illusion...

He tried to hold back the tears by closing his eyes, but it was too late. They spilled out anyway, trailing down his cheeks in a mark of shame.

"Help me," he begged, and dropped his head into his hands.

The M.E. crouched beside him, one arm around his trembling shoulders. "Let it out," he advised softly. "Much the best thing, believe me."

Adam's grief, though strong, was silent; a habit formed in childhood. With his eyes still closed, he hid in the darkness and wept - but Sid was there to keep him grounded. After a while, the shaking subsided and he began to feel embarrassed by his foolish outburst. He pulled back, shrugging off the arm that held him. When he cracked his eyes open, he found that Sid had pressed a small white handkerchief into his palm.

"It's clean," the M.E. hastened to reassure him, clambering to his feet. "Please feel free to use it. Tissues are just so inadequate in these situations, don't you think? No sense of comfort."

"Um - no." Adam tried to remember the last time he had actually owned or even used a handkerchief as he balled it up in his fist and scrubbed his cheeks until they burned. Feeling slightly better, he held it out. It was soggy by now and far less appealing. Sid shook his head.

"Please keep it. I get at least five every Christmas. Some of them are quite remarkable... Anyway, pay it forward - that's my motto. Even a modest handkerchief can make a difference..."

"Okay," Adam said huskily. "Thank you."

Sid nodded. "Good. Now then - where were we? Oh yes; help. Much easier, by the way, if I know the problem..?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Adam wanted to explain; he really did. But the bad thoughts had taken root inside him and they were resistant; knowing full well that they could lose their power over him if he spoke them aloud. _Crazy. I'm going crazy..._ He opened his mouth and tried to form a coherent sentence, his jaw working madly, his blue eyes full of despair. "I... Look, it's just... ugh!" The strain was ridiculous. Sid held up his hand in a gesture of compassion.

"Stop. I understand. Try this - start with something small and simple."

"What? Oh..." Sneaky tactics. Adam forced himself to work through Sid's logic. Maybe he _could_ fool his brain into thinking that he had abandoned the full-on confession in favour of trivial matters. He opened his mouth again and this time, to his great relief, the words flowed easily. "I have an elderly neighbour," he told the M.E. "She doesn't sleep well and she's afraid to go outside. You know, agoraphobia? Anyhow, I've been visiting her a lot lately and sometimes she needs a friend at night when she has bad dreams. I guess... well, it kind of messed with my sleep too. I've gone way beyond tired, Sid - and that's not the worst thing..." Once more, his throat began to clench and he veered away from the fear that threatened to silence him. "Okay... um... forget the worst thing. I've also been having bad dreams, and I had to stop myself driving because... well, I almost crashed and that made me kinda scared. I can't trust my actions anymore - the things I do, the things I see..."

"The things you see?"

"Hallucinations," Adam whispered, trembling with the strain of his internal struggle. Now. Now was the time to say it. "I think... I think I might be losing my mind."

"I find that hard to believe," Sid told him gently. "If you ask me, sanity is an illusion that people maintain to convince themselves they're coping with the world. In truth, we're all just that little bit unstable - some more than others, of course."

"Do _you_ see things that aren't there?" Adam demanded.

"I have done in the past - but there was always a potent reason..." Sid gave a wry laugh and then shook his head. "I'm sorry - you're probably not in the mood for my foolish sense of humour. What have you seen, exactly? And are you sure it wasn't there?"

"Right now, I'm not sure of anything that's happened in the last few weeks. The one truth I know is that Mac's so mad at me right now, I'm afraid to face him."

"Is that why you came to me instead? I'm flattered, Adam, but really - I can't imagine that you've done anything quite so dreadful. I've seen the way you try to please him. He knows that too. He trusts you."

"No!" The cry was painful. "I heard him, okay? I've been so stupid. Hawkes could have died..."

"Hawkes - what? You mean the incident at the crime scene? I'm still waiting for the details - and the body."

"Bodies," Adam whispered. "It's my fault. I thought... I thought I saw the people who attacked me, so I chased them and... and I took the officer with me, okay, so Hawkes was all alone and he didn't know it; but the bad guys weren't there at all - it was all in my head, and when I got back they were right there instead, _really_ there, and she stole his gun and Wallace had to - oh God, he shot her, and then I..."

"Take a breath," Sid ordered. "Now. Stop panicking. You're safe here; you know that."

Wearily obedient, Adam paused and let the breath heave in and out of his aching chest. At last, Sid nodded for him to continue.

"I overheard Mac," he explained, with a shifty expression. "Okay, maybe I was listening on purpose. They say it's a bad idea to do that, 'cause you never hear good things about yourself - well, I guess they're right. I'm in big trouble, Sid."

"The best way to fight trouble is to face it."

"I do. I try. I want to be brave, okay - but I don't even understand what happened. How can I explain to _him_?"

Adam's voice tailed off into silence. He sipped his tea but it was cooler now, and filled his mouth with the taste of ashes. When Sid looked away for a second, he spat it out into the mug, jerking back when the M.E. refocused.

"You're highly emotional," Sid stated, thinking out loud. "And erratic. And seeing things - yes, I'll accept that. Have you... pardon my asking, but after your attack, did the doctor give you any kind of medication?"

"She did," Adam said in a low voice. "Just painkillers - nothing heavy. Even so, I ditched them after..."

"After what?" Sid prompted.

"Okay... um... I didn't tell you this before, but I kind of... well, I punched someone. In the storeroom."

"Painful." Sid pulled a face at his own lousy pun. "May I know...?"

"It was Richard Polson."

"Ah. Yes, I've met the man. Say no more. I don't think you can class that as an irrational act."

"It is for me. I don't... I don't want to be _that_ person; you know, the one who controls people with his fists and his temper. But this time, it was like... like I couldn't stop myself. I didn't tell anyone," he added. "And I threatened Richard, to keep him quiet."

"So, what you're saying is, you don't want me to speak of it either?" Sid guessed.

Adam shrugged. "Doesn't really matter now. Make a list. I don't care." Somehow, his confession was having the opposite effect to the one he had hoped for. A fatalistic mood was creeping over him. Sid frowned unhappily, reading the signs on his face.

"You threw your meds away. Are those the only pills you're taking?"

"What?" All at once, Adam's tone was sharp, as he finally grasped what Sid was asking him.

"Are you on any other medication? Or - forgive me; I know that you've been burning the candle at both ends and you wouldn't be the first to try and... What are you taking, Adam?"

"Nothing." Full of horror, Adam rose to his feet. "Wait - is that what you think?" His eyes grew wide. "Is that what _everyone _thinks? That I'm some kind of _addict_?"

"I... no. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to offend you. It's just that the symptoms... but clearly, I'm wrong." Too late for Sid to apologise. The damage was done. Adam's paranoia spiralled, twisting the accusation out of all proportion.

"I'm done here," he said. "I'm going home. You can tell that to Mac, if you like. Or don't."

"Adam..."

Sick. He felt sick to the core; a bitter, churning sensation - the kind that always followed betrayal. _Hide it. Don't let him see._ "Thank you for the tea." With a blank smile, he set down the china mug and turned away. As he walked through the morgue, he could just make out the tell-tale sound of Dr. Hammerback's voice.

"Mac? It's Sid. Call me back when you get this. I need to speak with you urgently."

-xx-

**A/N: Ah, Sid! Bet you thought I'd forgotten him. I've been saving him for this chapter, and I really hope that you enjoyed the result. More soon! Thanks for reading and for so many lovely reviews.**


	20. Chapter 20

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Twenty**

_**"What happens when people open their hearts?"  
**__**"They get better."  
**__**(Haruki Murakami, 'Norwegian Wood')**_

Adam took a cab home from the crime lab. The fare used every last dollar in his wallet and a fistful of cents dredged up from the bottom of his bag - but he didn't care. The subway had become too much of an ordeal for him to face in his current state. To hurtle through a dark tunnel, trapped in a carriage with strangers - that was hell, and he would be a gibbering wreck if he tried it one more time.

Not that sitting in the back of the cab felt much better. As it bore him away from the building that he loved, the sense of loss was overwhelming. Part of him knew beyond all doubt that he should have stayed to face the music. Talked to Mac and set the whole thing straight. Let the boss-man send him to a shrink or something - at least that way, he had a chance. Flight was madness.

Unluckily for Adam, wounded pride had joined forces with an unhealthy fear of reprisal and the two emotions were holding his better half prisoner. As the cab drew up outside his apartment block and he stepped out, a full scale battle was raging inside his head.

_How could he? How could he ask that?_

_You know he had his reasons. Just take a look at yourself - you're a mess._

_I'm sick, that's all. Sick and tired. He had no right to accuse me._

_Are you sure...?_

Rain was still in the air; a clinging mist that coated him with fine wet drops. Three... four... five steps took him through the front door.

_Are you sure? _the voice insisted. _Stop and look, okay? Study the evidence..._

"Shut up!" he snapped. By the mail boxes, shy Miss Bettany from number thirty two almost jumped right out of her slippers. "Um... sorry. Bad day."

"No problem," she murmured, following him with her wistful eyes as he stepped into the elevator.

_Guess she won't be popping by for any more cups of sugar,_ Adam thought, with a hint of sadness.

The higher he rose, the lower his spirits fell, as though some kind of counterweight was pulling them down. By the time he reached his apartment, he was wallowing in full-blown despair. His better half looked on in disgust. _Get a grip, _it told him haughtily.

"No thanks. I'm going to get drunk."

A manly solution if ever there was one; and a foolproof way to silence both sides of the battle in his head. Alcoholic oblivion. Sounded like bliss...

He tried not to think about the after-effects that he would suffer in the morning.

"Got a bottle somewhere," he sang to himself as he pulled out his keys. Passing through the door, he locked it behind him with a strange sense of finality. Safe at last.

At the back of his closet, behind his winter boots and his secret stash of comic books, Adam found a bottle of high-class brandy; a humorous yuletide gift from Danny three years ago to 'keep his delicate blood from freezing'. It was still unopened. Truth was, he hated the taste of brandy - but right now, it was the only alcohol to hand and that made it _very _appealing.

No doubt someone like Sid would own a... what did they call it? A brandy snifter. Adam smirked at the comical word and considered his own options. Beer glass or mug - which was better? The beer glass would hold more - but the mug had a handle. "Who cares if it's ridiculous?" he muttered. "No one's looking." Into his favourite Wile E. Coyote mug went the golden liquid, releasing its pungent vapour as he poured out a shot that was far too big.

He had just settled down to sulk with his drink and his comic books (also liberated from the closet) when, to his alarm, he heard footsteps outside the door, followed by a sharp knock and - oh, horror! - the boss-man's voice.

"Adam. Let me in, please."

X-ray vision wasn't one of Mac's superpowers, but that didn't matter. His tone made it clear; he knew Adam was there. So now the choice was final - send his boss away and seal his fate, or do the right thing after all.

Stepping up to the door, he pressed his forehead against it and closed his eyes. Strange, to think of Mac waiting patiently on the other side.

"Now, Adam."

Okay, _not _patiently. Adam took a deep breath and used every ounce of will-power that he had left to follow his conscience and open the door.

The two men stared at each other in silence.

"I asked you to wait for me," Mac said at last.

"Yes, well, no doubt Sid told you all about _that _when he called." As soon as he heard it out loud, Adam knew that his sullen reply was the wrong one. He tried to tone it down as he continued. "Please understand, boss; I just couldn't be there any more. It was too hard."

To his credit, and to Adam's surprise, Mac stayed calm, though his eyes were sharp and there was tension in his bearing. "I did hear from Sid, as it happens. He's worried about you - so yes, he told me why you left. And I'm pretty sure you owe him an apology."

Put like that, it seemed so simple. Adam cringed to think of how he had treated his friend. One hand curled around the handkerchief in his pocket. "I know," he admitted. "I will. Apologise, I mean... As soon as I can. Um... you want to come in?"

Mac stepped over the threshold. Clearly, he had been waiting for the invitation. _Like a vampire,_ Adam thought, feeling dazed by the whole situation. And he hadn't even touched the brandy...

Oh, no. The brandy.

He cast a surreptitious glance towards the Wile E. Coyote mug. Mac followed his gaze and the smell of the fumes.

"Are you really going to drink that?"

Was that humour in his tone? What was going _on_ here? Adam floundered as he tried to explain.

"I was feeling overwhelmed. Too many thoughts in my head, you know? I just - I needed them to stop. Don't tell me _you've_ never done that... Oh, no! Mac, I'm not saying... I didn't mean to imply..."

"No offence taken. I've been known to have a drink or two." There it was again; another reassuring statement that only served to make him feel twice as uncomfortable. "Though never from a Looney Tunes mug. Adam, sit down. We need to talk."

"Aren't we talking already?"

Mac gave him _that_ look - the one reserved for him, and him alone. He perched on the edge of the couch and his boss sat beside him, adopting the classic, angled posture of a counsellor. _Uh oh,_ Adam thought. _Here we go..._

_Breathe... Remember to breathe..._

"This is your last chance to set things straight," Mac said. "A 'one night only' deal."

Okay - so far, so good. 'Chance' was an optimistic word and Adam clung to it, nodding obediently.

"I'm offering you a free pass. That's a rare opportunity, so don't waste it, Adam. You can talk about whatever's on your mind - anything at all - and I promise I won't yell."

"But you told Flack..." Adam pressed his lips together. _Dammit..._

"Yes, I thought as much." Mac fixed the unhappy lab tech with a stern gaze - but true to his promise, he kept his voice level. "What else did you hear?"

"Oh, you know..." Adam muttered, turning bright red. "Nothing much."

Mac looked away for a moment and stared at the window without really seeing it. "Sometimes," he offered quietly, "our first reaction is the wrong one. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

As the words sank in and he saw their double meaning, Adam's heart swelled with hope. "You're saying you were freaked out at the time... sorry, boss; I mean anxious, okay? Just like I was with Sid, and that's why..."

"No need to spell it out."

"No. Thank you." Adam tried out a wary smile that was echoed, briefly, by a gleam in Mac's eye; nothing more.

"Is there anything else you'd like to tell me?" Mac asked pointedly.

"Yes," said Adam. _Start small..._ "I hit Richard."

"Richard Polson?"

"Yes... but you knew that, right? Sid mentioned it?"

Mac shook his head in silence.

"Oh." Once more, Adam vowed to make amends for ever doubting the man. "And Richard - he didn't...?"

Another head-shake. "Care to explain?"

In a hesitant manner that slowly picked up speed, Adam told his boss what Richard had done to his locker and how he had tracked him down. The change in Mac's demeanour was subtle but the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable. Adam swallowed, full of shame. "It's petty, I know," he confessed. "But I felt so angry. I guess he didn't deserve an attack like that, whatever he did to provoke me. I should have been stronger."

"Adam, it's Richard I'm mad at, not you. You tried to deal with a bully and there's no perfect way to handle that, whether you're a high school kid or a highly trained lab tech." Mac sighed. "As your boss, I'm going to tell you something I suspect you already know. You should have come to me as soon as you saw the eye on your locker." He paused and studied Adam thoughtfully. "As a human being, I would have to say - I understand. Anger can twist us all."

"I know that," Adam's reply was heartfelt. "Even so, I should have found a way to control myself. Like you or Danny."

Mac gave a short laugh. "If we're your benchmark for self-control then it's no wonder you're in trouble."

They smiled together, sharing the simple joke until a new thought occurred to Adam and he stared at his boss in consternation. " Boss... can I ask? The eye. The one on my back, I mean... Did you question him?"

"Richard Polson?" Mac was confused.

"No. The man. Tonight... the one in the alley." His voice shrank to a whisper. "Was it _him_?"

Once again, Mac's face betrayed his frustration before he could even reply. "So far, there's no evidence to prove that. I'm sorry, Adam. I wish I could offer you more. Flack's with the suspect at the hospital right now, waiting for them to patch him up. He's high on something, which means he's extremely unreliable - but when they left the scene, he was boasting about his little 'fishing trip', much to Flack's disgust."

"He planted the body," Adam guessed, with sudden insight.

"To catch a cop." Mac nodded slowly. It was a terrible thought. "Maybe the girl was dead when he found her; maybe not. It's almost certain that the two of them dragged her into that alley and left her. Then they watched to see what kind of fish their bait would bring."

"That's crazy..."

"Anyone who chooses to embrace violence as a means of entertainment finds the same thing, in the end. Like any other drug, the more you take, the more you need." He narrowed his eyes.

"Then they're hurting people - _killing_ people - for the _buzz_?"

"It's a motive," Mac sighed. "And sadly not the worst I've heard."

"Tell that to Conrad Valens - or Marissa Kelly. No, wait - you can't. She's dead," Adam muttered fiercely. "I'm glad we stopped them."

"Closure." Mac continued to watch him carefully. "It's an important part of the healing process. Adam - you're the one who brought him down; and I'm proud of you. I should have told you that before."

A warm glow spread from Adam's core but his conscience forced him to ignore it as he shook his head. "No, boss. Your first reaction _was _the right one - I know that. I caught him; sure - but I'm also the one who left the scene wide open in the first place. What happened to Wallace and Hawkes is my fault."

"Who were you chasing?" Mac asked. "I need to hear your side of the story before I assign any blame."

"Sid really didn't tell you anything, did he?" Adam stared in disbelief.

"He told me where to find you and he told me some details about why you left. The rest, I believe, he trusted me to find out for myself. So, I'll ask you again - what happened, Adam?"

The memory was such a reluctant one that the only way he could coax it back was to close his eyes and step right into it. "I was searching for evidence... doing my job," he breathed. "Wanted to prove that there was nothing wrong with me. Guess I blew that..." Mac kept silent, and he fell back into the moment, lifting his head as the ghost of a wind slipped by him. "There was... an echo. A scent. I looked up and there they were. At least..." He opened his eyes at last and stared directly at his boss. "At least I thought they were. So I chased them - but they disappeared completely."

"Them." Mac frowned. "Adam, who are you talking about?"

"Two dark figures, okay? Sounds creepy, I know - and it is. Ever since I watched the CCTV footage, I keep on seeing them in my dreams. They're haunting me, Mac; and I can't tell what's real any more. I... I'm scared..." The last word was barely audible. Adam's breath caught in his throat and he clutched at his chest in a panic.

Mac's hand reached out and settled on his arm to steady him. The unexpected connection sent a jolt through Adam that released him from the tight grip of his fear. "Close your eyes again. Tell me something else. Something tiny and insignificant. Focus your mind..."

"H-hypnotist are you, n-now boss?" Adam stuttered, but he did as he was told, frowning slightly as he tried to concentrate. Little by little, his breathing evened out.

"Something else," Mac prompted. "You mentioned a scent - describe it to me."

His voice was gruff and reassuring. Adam anchored himself in its familiarity. He tipped his head back and let everything else drift away as he tried to capture a fleeting memory with words. _Smoke in a net,_ he sighed - but the ghostly scent was there and somehow his tired brain latched onto it, working to break it down. "Sharp - like bleach, or some other chemical. Sickly, too, with a bad kind of sweetness. And musky, like sweat - with a stale kind of bite to it."

"That was very good, Adam." Mac's warm approval brought him back to his senses. He opened his eyes and blinked, feeling quite bewildered as though a strong hand had pulled him out of deep, dark water.

"What? I mean, it was? Thanks, boss..." And then, like a physical blow, he was struck by a moment of absolute clarity. He froze, unable to speak.

"Adam?" Mac said, full of concern.

"I know!" he blurted out at last. "I know for sure this time. It wasn't him, Mac - the scent wasn't there."

"The man you caught? It wasn't the man who attacked you." Mac tried to follow him.

"No! Because he didn't smell... I mean, he smelled; he was pretty disgusting, really... but..."

"It wasn't the same," Mac finished. Adam watched him eagerly as he furrowed his brow in thought. "Do you understand what this means?" he said at last.

"I do." Easy to admit when, deep down, Adam had known it all along. "My attack was different. Something else is going on."

"Yes, it is." Mac leaned forward. "Look, Adam. I need to ask you some difficult questions now. Will you let me?"

"I will." His voice cracked. "I just... I need a moment, boss. Okay?"

"Take all the time you need. And thank you."

Adam pushed up from the couch, surprised to find how shaky his legs were, and headed over to the tiny kitchen. His throat was dry and he needed some water. "You want something too, Mac?" he called out over his shoulder. When his boss declined, Adam filled his own glass to the brim and stood at the sink, sipping slowly as he gazed out of the window and counted the brightly lit rooms in the building opposite. So many people out there. So many separate lives; sometimes it blew his mind to think of it. How small was he, in the grand scheme of things? And yet, here behind him was a man who cared enough to drag him out of the nightmare that had claimed him and set him back on his feet. All he asked for in return was honesty.

_I can do that,_ Adam thought.

With a deep breath, he set down his glass and walked back to the couch - but he didn't resume his old seat. Perching on the coffee table this time, he looked Mac straight in the eye. "I'm ready."

Mac gave a nod of quiet approval. "Don't worry - we'll get to the bottom of this," he said firmly. "I'm not leaving till we do."

"Okay..."

"Think about your answers carefully. They may be very important. And, Adam..."

"Yes?"

"If I hear the word 'fine' once more, then all bets are off and you _will_ hear me yell. Understood?"

Adam bit his lip. "Mm hmm."

"What are you feeling? Right now?"

Wait - was that the first question? It seemed far too easy - and yet, when he tried to put the words together, Adam found himself fighting against his deepest instinct. Self-preservation was holding him back but this time, it was misguided. He clenched his fists and pushed harder, forcing his way past the barrier. "I know how everyone sees me, okay?" he began. Mac frowned in confusion, but let him continue. "I'm Adam the clown; the jumpy guy that can't string a sentence together without going off at a tangent or stammering like some nervous fool. But I know my own mind and I'm proud of it. It's all I have, Mac - and right now, I feel like it's breaking. Can you imagine how scary that is?"

"I can."

Mac's straightforward answer made him pause and look at his boss once more; gaining strength from the sympathy in his eyes. Adam flushed. "Okay. That's it - that's how I feel. Like I'm losing my grip on reality. Sometimes..." He lowered his voice. "Sometimes I could just curl up on the floor and sleep forever. That's bad, right? But then, at the same time, I get so afraid of my dreams that I don't want to sleep at all."

"Have you ever felt this way before?"

"Once, when I was a kid. I got sick... But this isn't the same thing. It can't be." He shook his head. Some thoughts went too deep, and some things were not meant for sharing.

Mac didn't push any further. Wisely, he sent the conversation down a new path. "You said the nightmares came after you watched the security footage?"

"Yes..."

"So this isn't PTSD from your own attack? Did you think of that?"

"I did - but you're right. It's been going on far too long. I thought I was just really tired, you know? Maybe I am." He hovered on the edge of a question; one that he hardly dared to ask. "Boss - you think this is my fault? Did I push myself too far? Am I burned out, or something?" Twitchy with nerves, he waited for Mac's condemnation.

But Mac shook his head.

"At first, I wondered that myself," he admitted slowly. "It seemed to fit the circumstances. After this evening, though, I have a new theory." Sensing his reluctance, Adam guessed what had to be coming next.

"You agree with Sid." Disappointment burned behind his eyes, sending tears that were always too quick to fall. They stung him as he blinked them away. _Not this time_, he told them fiercely. He was stronger than that. And he had to prove that he could learn his lesson. "That's okay. I understand. But you need to believe me when I say that I don't do drugs. Not now; not ever. Nor would I lie to you, boss. Trust goes both ways, right? It hurts me when I let you down; don't you get that?"

Mac kept silent for a moment. Adam watched him, scared that he had gone too far. So hard to explain how he felt, when his head was aching and his thoughts were as sluggish as mud in a river.

"What kind of boss would I be if I didn't?" Mac said at last. "Some things you hide, Adam; some things are written all over your face. I do trust you - and, as it happens, I don't agree with Sid. Not entirely."

Okay - what did that mean? Encouraged by Mac's reassurance, Adam tried to concentrate, clasping his hands together and leaning forwards.

"You're not taking drugs; I believe that. Your honesty isn't in question. But after Sid called me, I started to look at your symptoms again and they're making me wonder. Exhaustion. Mood swings. Nightmares, paranoia - and, based on the things you've just told me, hallucinations too. Not to mention those hiccups. Adam, is it possible that you've been drugged without even knowing it?"

One simple question and the whole world changed completely. Adam's mouth fell open. Could it be true? If it was... then maybe this was _not_ his fault. He wasn't going mad. He hadn't destroyed his own life single-handedly...

Someone else had done it to him.

And now the joy that had filled him a moment ago slowly drained away, leaving behind it an ugly sense of fear.

"Who would do something like that?" he whispered hoarsely. Mac saw his horror and gripped his hand.

"My next question," he said.

_I don't want to answer it. _Adam's head was throbbing by now. He knew that Mac was right. It was the only explanation that made any sense - and yet, at the same time, the implication was that one of his friends had chosen to hurt him deliberately. Had sent him down this road without any care for the consequence.

"No one. I don't know anyone like that. I'm not a cop, Mac; I haven't made enemies. I just work in a lab, you know...? Test tubes, samples... I don't understand." His plea was desperate.

"I have a suspect," Mac said.

Adam looked up. The face before him was stone and the eyes were cold chips of ice. "Who?" he whispered.

"Your friend Jade."

"Not my friend..." Adam breathed. Why did people keep calling her that?

"She's a known user. And the way she rescued you was far too convenient for my liking. Either she'd been following you, or she set the whole thing up and made sure that you didn't see your attackers - or what became of them." Mac's accusation gathered speed. Adam tried not to let it overwhelm him. This was important. He had to think clearly. "Did she ever bring you any food?"

"Well - pizza, I guess, but that was Kevin too. And breakfast, one day..." Adam shook his head. "But Mac, you don't understand, okay? I sent her away..." Or was it Stella who did that? The memory was hazy but its meaning was clear. "She hasn't been here for over a week. It can't be her."

"Who else has given you food?"

He laughed; a high, unnatural sound. "Try Stella. She brought me a care package when she found out that my fridge was bare. In fact, boss, the only people who've been here lately are you guys - Flack, Danny, Lindsay. Haylen... You. It's not _you_, boss, is it...?" The joke fell flat, as Mac shook his head.

"No one else?"

"Well, there's Elma, of course. But that's even crazier. What, now you're thinking the little old lady next door is drugging me? With tea and cake and cookies..." He tailed off.

"Arsenic and Old Lace," Mac said softly. "Frank Capra, 1944. A classic."

His words fell on deaf ears. Adam wasn't listening to his boss any more. He wasn't even looking at him. Instead, he sprang to his feet with a look of dismay as the terrible truth overwhelmed him. A little old lady - who plied him with tea and kindness because he was there for her when she had nightmares. When she was scared... "Oh! Oh, my God." It was blindingly obvious. How had he missed it? How could anyone be so self-absorbed?

Elma _was_ the key.

"We have to go over there, right now," he begged. "We have to help her, Mac. I'm not the one being drugged; at least, not on purpose. _She_ is..."

-xx-

**A/N: This chapter is for 1917farmgirl.**

**To all those people (including farmgirl!) who wanted Adam to sit down with Mac and have this conversation - I hope you enjoyed it!**

**We may be heading towards the end, but I can promise that the story isn't over yet... More soon! And thank you, as always, for SO MANY kind reviews. **


	21. Chapter 21

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Twenty One**

_**"Danger, like a third man, was standing in the room." (Ian Fleming, 'From Russia With Love')**_

"Slow down," Mac said. "Tell me your reasoning."

Elma's keys were in Adam's hand already. He stared at them, full of surprise, as he hovered by the door. How did _that_ happen? "What... now? We need to _go_."

"Five minutes, Adam, I promise; no more. Explain it to me." Mac rose to his feet and moved closer. "Elma - she's the neighbour you've been helping? The one who made you late the other week?"

"Yes." Adam nodded; his fingers twisting around the keys. Guilt was swelling inside him. How much could he hold before it tore him apart? "Mac, I've been so stupid..."

"Stop that!" his boss ordered sharply and he flinched in shock at the sudden change in tone. Seconds later, however, his face began to clear and his hand relaxed.

"Thanks," he murmured. So much had passed between them tonight that he should have gone beyond the need for embarrassment - yet that didn't stop the colour rising in his cheeks as he ploughed on, using words to cover his confusion. "Elma, yes; we're friends. I guess that's odd, you know, 'cause she's this amazing old lady and I'm just... well, me. Anyhow, she told me about these real bad nightmares she's been having and I made her promise to knock on the wall if it happened again - her bedroom's next to mine, you see..."

"How often?" Mac said quietly.

"When I was late for work - that was the first time. And the night after that." He frowned. "I remember... reading poetry. Weird, huh? Then I slept on the couch for a while after - well, _you_ know - so I never heard her knock again. That was bad. But I visit most days now and she's been giving me food in return; lots of food. She's kind, Mac. She thought I was lonely..." The look in his eyes was rueful but his voice was full of warmth.

"She thought she was helping you?"

Realising that he might have said too much, Adam quickly changed the subject. This wasn't his tale any more. Elma was the priority, as far as he was concerned.

"Oh, yes. She made this awesome cake, right, and she taught me how to brew the perfect cup of tea. There were cookies too; Flack and I... oh!"

Mac's grasp on the situation was so immediate that Adam felt like a dunce in comparison. "When?"

"That night he stayed with me." Adam's eyes grew wider. "Mac, please don't tell him, okay? I didn't know... Explains a lot, though, if it's true..." He turned and stared at the seat where Flack had stretched out, kicking his leg against the table and losing himself in memories of Jess.

"I may have to tell him at some point - but I promise to give you a head start," Mac offered solemnly. Adam gaped - and snorted with laughter. He couldn't help himself.

"Very funny, boss. I find out I may have drugged Detective Flack, of all people, and you're making _jokes_?"

Mac raised his eyebrows and neatly evaded the accusation. "Tell me more about Elma's behaviour. Have there been any significant changes in the last few weeks?"

"Yes." Adam sighed and clenched his empty hand with renewed frustration. "That's why I should have known, okay? I'm so mad at myself right now. But I thought... I've seen it before, that's all. The past feels closer to her than the present, and she's losing herself in it - more and more each day. I thought..." he repeated earnestly, unable to finish the sentence but knowing, somehow, that it wasn't necessary. Mac understood; he could tell.

"People see what they expect to see. Don't blame yourself, Adam."

"I have to. She's all alone and she trusted me to help her."

"All alone? There's no one else?"

"Just a home help; Beth-Anne. Guess we've got ourselves another suspect, right, boss?" He thought of the fluffy-haired girl with her naïve manner. "I'm not sure if I can believe it, though. She's not really the type."

"They never are," Mac said wryly. "Haven't you learned that by now?"

Adam toyed with the keys and glanced longingly at the door. "Yes, boss. Look, are we done with the talking?"

"We are. But we need to tread carefully. If your theory is true, then you know just how bad Elma feels - you've been feeling it too. If you thought that you were going crazy, imagine how terrified _she_ must be."

"I get that, Mac; I really do. And I know I'm a mess right now, but please - will you let me go in first? I know I can do this. I have to. She trusts me, okay, and she knows me... well, most of the time." He stared down at his feet. "These last few days, it's not been so good. I offered to fetch a doctor, but she wouldn't let me. She's scared they'll force her to leave the apartment. She's not been out of there for years; not once."

"Agoraphobia." Mac's face was full of pity for the old lady's plight and suddenly Adam was glad that he had chosen to share such delicate information. Elma's problem had been weighing him down far more than he realised, lost as he was in the swell of his own anxieties.

"Yes. She's in prison - and somebody's making that worse." He tightened his grip on the keys, his knuckles straining as he let the metal dig into his skin. The pain was dull, but strong enough to spur him on. "Time to stop 'em, right, boss?"

-xx-

As they stood in front of Elma's door, he could hear the low rumble of someone speaking but the words were indistinct. It didn't sound like Beth-Anne or his neighbour, both of whom spoke softly. This voice belonged to a man.

Adam turned to Mac and his face was troubled.

"Someone's in there with her," he said. "She never has visitors; only the two of us. Me and Beth-Anne, I mean."

"There's an easy way to find out," Mac suggested. "Knock on the door."

"Alright..." Holding his breath, Adam knocked three times. He tried to sound confident but his whole body was trembling with concern for his elderly friend. "It's Adam," he called out, glancing sideways at Mac. "I always do that," he added in a whisper. "You know, because sometimes... well, it can take her a while..."

Mac shook his head. "No need to explain."

"Okay. Thanks, boss..." Adam turned back just as the door swung open and Beth-Anne's wide green eyes stared out at them.

"Oh - it _is_ you. He a doctor?" she demanded, peering over Adam's shoulder.

"Why? Do you need one?" Mac's voice was calm on the surface but to Adam, who knew him, there was an underlying note of urgency.

"What? No... You jus' look like a doctor, that's all."

"He's my friend," Adam told her hastily, anxious to avoid any probing questions until they were safely inside. "He wants to meet Elma, 'cause she's been so kind to me. Mac Taylor, this is Beth-Anne... I'm sorry, I don't know your last name."

"Sullivan." Nervously, she reached up and began to twist a strand of her flyaway hair around her finger. Her eyes never left Mac's face and he offered her a reassuring smile.

"Pleased to meet you," he said.

Beth-Anne shrugged. "Okay." Still she hovered on the threshold. Adam could feel his impatience rising. "Um... don't you think it's a bit late for callin' round?"

"You're here," he told her pointedly. "And it sounds like you brought a friend as well." He tried to look past her without being obvious but Beth-Anne caught the subtle shift in his gaze.

"My brother. He's come to take me home, that's all. It's dark, you know," she said unnecessarily. The hallway was lost in shadow and the soft light from Elma's apartment framed Beth-Anne like a golden aura. It made her seem angelic - but Adam was aching with suspicion by now and reluctant to take anything at face value. Drug-induced paranoia or well-reasoned logic - he didn't care what was driving him. He'd been caught out too many times in the last few weeks and _no one_, no matter how fluffy and charming, was going to deceive him again. Especially not when the well-being of his friend was at stake.

"You know, I visit Elma every night, so I'm sure she'll be happy to see me. And if you're leaving..." His tone was pointed. "Look, she really won't mind, okay? Just ask her and she'll tell you. I've got keys and everything; doesn't that show how much she trusts me?" He jingled them in the young girl's face like a magic talisman..

Startled, Beth-Anne staggered backwards, leaving the doorway unguarded. Raised to respect boundaries, Adam knew all too well that he should wait for an invitation - but the need to see Elma was far greater than the need to be polite, so he boldly defied his upbringing and slipped past the wide-eyed girl in one swift move. Mac followed close behind him.

"Help," Beth-Anne squeaked. "Intruders! Go away..."

Adam ignored her and spun round quickly, taking in the whole room at a glance. Much to his relief, the first thing that he saw was Elma, fast asleep on the couch, her head on one side and her hands folded in her lap. She looked peaceful; younger, somehow - and happy. He let out his fear in a long breath... until he caught sight of the third person in the room.

Beth-Anne's brother was tall and lanky, with the same pale, flyaway hair as his sister, except that it seemed to grow upwards from his skull, twisting into a peak like a strange kind of hat. He stood behind Elma, both hands resting on the back of the couch. His wrists were long - too long - and his fingers hovered lightly over the brown velvet, almost as though the sensation was much too soft for his skin to bear. Adam stared in sick fascination. A dark feeling of unease was creeping slowly through him and he couldn't quite explain it. The young man caught his gaze and held it steadily.

"Hello," he said, with Beth-Anne's own voice - only deeper in pitch, and far more self-aware. One word only - and then he pressed his lips together, waiting. _Your move,_ the action seemed to say.

Adam broke first and turned away. He locked eyes with Mac instead, needing the strength that he found there. He knew beyond all doubt that _something_ was out of kilter here. He only hoped it wasn't him.

_What should we do?_ he pleaded silently, hoping that, by some miracle, Mac would understand him.

Mac's eyes flicked across the room to Elma, before darting back to Adam. Twice, he repeated the movement. Then, quite deliberately, he stepped away and focussed the whole of his attention on the young girl, who was still fuming visibly.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "You must think we're very rude. Let's start again - Beth-Anne, right?" As the flow of pleasantries continued, the girl began to soften. At the same time, Adam's sluggish brain glimpsed the meaning of Mac's silent message.

_Go and wake Elma._

Slowly, he crossed the room and crouched down in front of her. All the while, Beth-Anne's brother watched him, but never a word passed between them. "Elma," Adam whispered, as he brushed her worn hands with his fingertips, hoping to rouse her with a gentle touch. She stirred, and shifted. Watching her pale face come alive, he breathed in the heavy scent of her beloved cinnamon, which laced the air around them. Cinnamon - and something else... What _was_ that...?

Lurking beneath the spice was a sharp, intrusive smell that clawed at the back of his throat and stole his breath away, attacking him with brutal, stabbing shards of memory.

_... waves of pain from the bruise across his cheek..._

_... coldness, as the fabric of his shirt was slashed..._

_... a weight that crushed him..._

Adam froze completely, unable to bring himself to look up at the source of his terror.

_... a strange scent of chemicals mixed with sweat..._

Was this another cruel trick of his senses? Was it a lie, or the truth this time?

_... the hand of Death at his shoulder..._

With a struggle, he found his breath again and forced his gaze to crawl upwards, inch by inch. He stopped at the sight of the long, pale fingers resting beside Elma's head. Because now, there was something else... The glint of a silver blade, tucked away, almost out of sight but showing an edge to taunt him. His shoulder burned, like a warning fire.

"That's right," said the cool voice, just as Elma opened her eyes and stared at Adam blankly.


	22. Chapter 22

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Twenty Two**

_**"We are all human, and our senses are quicker to prompt us than our reason. Every man gives off a scent, and that scent tells you how to act before your head does." (Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, 'The First Circle')**_

So many questions fighting to be answered first - but one thing Adam knew. This man was dangerous and he had no qualms about inflicting pain to serve his own purpose, whatever that may be. Elma must be protected at all costs.

And so, with a shiver of insight that some would call courage but he only saw as fear, Adam turned his face away from the subtle threat and smiled at Elma. It was a grimace, at best, but it seemed to work as her eyes narrowed, ever so slightly, and the link between them was restored. "Adam..."

"Hi there," he told her softly. Kneeling at her feet, he could see just how thin her legs were, and how frail, sticking out beneath the hem of her long skirt, clad in cheap, thin stockings. She was a little wren, quiet and safe in her nest, unaware of the cat that lurked behind her, sharpening its claws.

"Is it... nine?"

"Even later, I'm afraid. Long day... But I'm here now, okay? It's alright." He could feel the brother watching him even as he spoke; a silent menace. What was he doing there? What did he _want_?

"I was starting to worry." She frowned, and peered at Adam through the mist that was creeping past her eyes once more. "It's cold on the hillside... snow in the air... Where's Da?"

"Safe and sound," Adam whispered, swallowing hard. "We're all safe here, Elma - I promise..."

He could not risk a glance behind him, but as he continued to speak words of quiet reassurance, Adam let his hand drift down to the floor, where his finger trailed along the carpet...

_K..._

_N..._

_I..._

Adam knew without a doubt that Mac would be watching. He had to warn him somehow and reveal the extent of the danger before it was too late. The brother's message had been silent but shockingly clear. One false move and Elma would pay the price.

_F... E..._ He slid his fingers back to rest against his leg; never once looking down, never once looking up at the young man whose very scent filled him with terror. Elma's face was his whole world right now. Subconsciously, he studied the lines that creased her forehead, trying to ease his panic.

"I saw that." The voice was a whisper, and no one else heard it.

Adam's skin crawled and the blood in his veins turned to ice-water.

"Sorry," he mouthed - but whether the word was meant for Elma or the man behind her, he couldn't have said. Lifting his eyes at last, he saw the brother's right hand twitch around the concealed blade. No more chances, Adam realised, just as the old lady drew in a sharp breath and sat up as straight as her bones would let her.

"David!" she cried.

Was she speaking to shadows now? Adam felt the air shift at his back. He twisted his neck to glance over his shoulder... and _up_ at his startled boss. Uncomfortable in the extreme, Beth-Anne lurked in a corner, watching the drama play out from a distance. Her brother, meanwhile, kept silent, as though he were waiting for something. So strange... Did Elma even know that he was there, Adam wondered. And then came a darker thought - _was_ he there?

_Stop that,_ his brain insisted. He clambered to his feet, feeling oddly vulnerable down on his knees.

Elma was gazing at Mac with a challenging expression. "David," she said again, "where have you been?"

Time seemed to flicker and catch, like an old movie reel, as everyone held their breath and waited for the answer. Confused by the hesitation, Elma's face fell.

"I... I don't..." she murmured, shaking her head. Adam's heart bled to see her so lost. In that moment, his boss stepped forward, taking Adam's place as the younger man fell back instinctively. Bending down, Mac grasped Elma's hand.

"I'm sorry - I should have come sooner," he told her gently. His eyes flicked up at Beth-Anne's brother, stealing his attention in a sudden, naked challenge as he spoke to the woman again. "Here, let me help you..."

Faster than thought, he slipped his other arm across Elma's shoulders and swept her out of her seat as though she weighed no more than the cushion beside her. Clutching her against him as he turned, Mac himself was the shield that protected her, as the brother lashed out spitefully, robbed of his leverage.

_Thank God, _Adam thought, even as he gasped to hear the blade rip through Mac's coat. His boss gave a grunt of pain and he reached out to help him - only to find that Elma was now being thrust into his open arms. The old lady keened in fright. Adam clasped her tightly, feeling her tremble against his chest. Her fragility scared him. "It's okay; I won't let go," he whispered, trying to steer her across the room to safety. "It's Adam. I've got you..."

The look that she turned on him was hostile at first, but then, as her eyes locked on his, she let out a shuddering sob and grew limp in his grasp. He staggered, thrown off balance by the sudden extra weight, but managed not to drop her. At the same time, a terrible crash made his head snap round.

Fuelled by rage and disappointment, Beth-Anne's brother had vaulted clean over the couch and launched himself straight at Mac, just as the detective freed his Glock from its holster. The gun was knocked out of Mac's grasp before he could take aim properly and the two men toppled to the floor in a hopeless tangle of arms and legs - and one silver blade.

Adam tried to set Elma down on a nearby chair but her grip on him was rigid by now and he could not bring himself to peel her fingers away. He burned to help Mac, but Elma deserved his protection too. The dilemma was shocking. Mac's gun was nowhere to be seen, having spun out of sight amongst the cluttered furniture. Without his Glock, he had only his strength and his training to count on - and he was clearly growing tired. There were several slashes through his coat sleeves and Adam's sharp eyes could already make out an ominous smear on the carpet as Mac rolled away from the brother's latest effort to impale him.

"No!" Adam cried out, "please! Get off him!"

He struggled, first with his conscience, and then with the old lady in his arms, trying desperately to untangle himself without hurting her.

"Stop!" screamed a voice behind him. "Stop or I'll shoot, Kyle... an' I don't care if I hit you too!"

The two men fell apart. Mac dragged himself backwards, coming to rest up against the base of the couch. His jaw was rigid and his coat was dark with patches of blood. Using his right hand, he gripped his left arm tightly.

Kyle rose to his feet and shot a poisonous glare at his sister. "I had him," he hissed.

Beth-Anne gulped. The gun shuddered violently in her hands and she seemed to have no fixed idea in her head about aiming as she switched targets convulsively. First Mac... then Adam and Elma... then Kyle... then back to Mac. It was all too clear that she had never held a weapon in her life before - and she was terrified.

"You promised," she moaned. "You said... after _him._" The gun swung back towards Adam, far more lethal than a pointing finger. "No more knives. No more _hurting_ people."

"I was only trying to protect us," Kyle told her, forcing his thin lips into a heartless smile. "But I like your way much better." He held out his hand. "Give me the gun, hey, Bet? You don't know what you're doing. I'll handle this."

"Don't do it," Mac told the girl through clenched teeth, frowning up at her. "Just put the gun down. You don't want blood on your hands, believe me..." As if to convince her, he held up his stained fingers for a moment and then clamped them back around his forearm.

Adam could hear the fluttering edge of pain in his voice and it scared him. Elma's little-old-lady scent caught in his throat as he held the tiny woman in his arms and fixed his own eyes on Beth-Anne in wide appeal. "Look," he began, "this is all wrong, okay? I thought you were Elma's friend. So am I... You don't want to hurt us; I can see that. We both can... right, boss?" He appealed to Mac, who nodded grimly.

"He's your boss?" Impossibly, Beth-Anne's voice rose even higher. "Then he's a cop too, jus' like you are. You're gonna arrest me... I don't want to go to _jail_..." The word soared beyond the range of human hearing and her face filled with panic. She tightened her grip on the Glock. Adam turned away from her slightly, trying to shield Elma even though he knew that, if a bullet came his way at this close range, it would probably tear right through him and take her as well.

"Then give Adam the gun," Mac said urgently. "Maybe you don't know me - but you know _him_... and that means you know he's a good man. He won't hurt you. We just need to get Elma some help, and right now we can't do that..."

Beth-Anne wavered. She took a short step towards Adam, who held his breath. In spite of the situation, he felt warm at Mac's words. _A good man..._ Not a fool, or a waste of space. Not crazy, either... "Please," he told her gently.

"Beth-Anne?" Elma whispered, peering over his shoulder.

The girl let out a tiny whimper.

"Kyle?" she pleaded, turning towards him. "I have to. They're _cops_..."

"Fine," her brother said with a dangerous look in his eye. "Enjoy prison, Bet. Guess you won't need _me_ any more. You'll make so many _new_ friends." He stared at her, watching her jaw slacken. "Thieves. Drug pushers... murderers..."

"No..." she wailed. Four short steps, and the gun was in Kyle's hand. Beth-Anne fled to the kitchen, sobbing.

Adam's heart sank. Because now they were _definitely_ in trouble.

Elma's twisted fingers hooked around his neck, pulling his head down until she could reach it. When she spoke, her breath tickled his ear. "Is this real?" she begged him in the smallest of whispers, glancing back at Kyle with a fearful expression.

"Oh, God... yes, I'm so sorry; it is." He stroked her hair instinctively, brushing a thin strand away from her face. Then he, too, looked at Kyle.

"Let her go," he said. "Please."

"You don't need her," Mac added. "You have us."

Kyle gave a strange, half-formed giggle and levelled the gun in Mac's direction. "Need her? Of course I need her. Maybe you're the one I can do without..."

"He's the head of the New York Crime Lab," Adam blurted out, full of desperation. "You kill him, they'll never stop. They'll hunt you down..."

"Adam," Mac hissed. But it was already too late.

Striding over, Kyle pulled Elma out of Adam's arms and flung her carelessly onto the couch once more, like a rag doll. Pushing upwards with difficulty, Mac flopped down beside her and cradled her in his blood-stained arms. They both stared across the room at Adam.

"David," Elma said, "what's going on...?"

No one answered her. Kyle was so close to Adam by now that the sharp scent was almost unbearable. "And you?" he asked quietly, looming over him. "What do _you_ do?"

"Lab tech." Two little words that would seal his fate. They fell from Adam's lips before he could stop them.

Kyle looked scornful. The gun dug into Adam's ribs. "You're a geek, not a cop? Figures. That's the last time I ever listen to my sister." He turned and studied Mac. "Still, looks like you two have some kind of cute father-son thing going on here. What, he your pet or something? Time to save his life, oh great and wonderful Head of the New York Crime Lab. The old woman seems to like you as well - so it's up to _you_ now. Get her to tell me where it is... or I guess there'll be one less geek in the world. You've got..." He checked the clock on Elma's wall. "Oh, let's say fifteen minutes..."

-xx-

**A/N: Oops - another cliffhanger. SO sorry...**

**Hope you enjoyed this update. Thank you so much for all your recent reviews; they've been such fun to read.**

**And thank you to Channel 5 for finally showing "The Real McCoy". AT LAST! **


	23. Chapter 23

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Twenty Three**

_**"By betrayal, I mean promising to be on your side, then being on somebody else's." (Jeanette Winterson, 'Oranges are Not the Only Fruit')**_

He should have been filled with horror - his life had just been threatened, after all - but the only thing that Adam felt right now was an overwhelming urge to sink down onto the floor and curl up in a ball. Embarrassing, but true. The rush of adrenaline that had carried him this far was leaving him, like a rat on a floundering ship. His heart was banging and his legs felt impossibly weak; a warning sign that they were no longer willing to support him. "I need..." he murmured, but the path between his brain and his mouth was breaking apart and the rest of his sentence went astray. He could not find the strength to chase after it. Today was the longest day of his life. "Um..."

"You want my help, then you need to give me some information in return," Mac said, dragging Kyle's gaze away from Adam just as the lab tech wavered and fell back against the nearby wall, sliding downwards with a dazed expression on his face. He tried to pay attention - knew somehow that this was important - but the conversation wasn't making sense to him.

"Cop tactics," Kyle sneered, yet the young man seemed to listen all the same as Mac went on, his voice tight with suppressed pain.

"My question is a simple one. What are you doing here? What do you want? I can't help you find it unless I know."

"I want what _he_ wants." Turning back for a moment, Kyle levelled the gun at Adam's head. "He's been sniffing around here for weeks, alright? He knows."

"Do I...?" Adam said, full of confusion. "Okay, but... what do I know?"

Kyle gave another of his high, tight laughs. "You're a terrible liar."

"I'm _not._" Muddled as he was, a strong sense of indignation forced its way to the surface and made him bold. "You've got no right to say that."

"You expect us to believe that you and this old woman are - what, best friends? That you're not here for the money as well?"

Adam froze. "There's no money," he whispered at last. There wasn't... was there? Elma's apartment was small, like his; she never went out and she certainly wasn't extravagant. Her greatest vices seemed to be pot pourri, gold-wrapped toffees and tea, for heaven's sake. What exactly was Kyle implying? That she had some kind of nest-egg stashed away under her mattress? That she was a miser, just like her husband? He stared at the old lady, wondering now if he knew her at all, and full of irrational shame at Kyle's unfounded accusation. It made his actions seem petty and selfish, when he had only been trying to do something kind for his neighbour. Why did everything have to be spoiled, in the end?

"Are you saying all this is some kind of... ongoing robbery?" Mac said. His face was the perfect picture of disgust. "You think you have the right to treat her this way because she's an old woman, living alone? You drug her; you make her think she's losing her mind and then, when she's no longer capable of understanding who and what you are, you steal from her. That tells me just what sort of person _you_ are."

"Beth-Anne, get out here!" Kyle snapped. He clenched the gun in a hand that shook, not with fear but with barely suppressed anger.

From the safety of Mac's arms, Elma stared at the young man in horror, her brown eyes wide and her thin fingers twisted in Mac's lapel. The blood from his sleeve was beginning to seep across into her blouse. Mac pressed harder on his unseen wounds. His lips were white and there was a stiffness to the way he held himself that Adam did not like.

"David, ask him to leave," Elma said. "Please! He shouldn't _be_ here."

"Believe me, I'd like to," Mac muttered grimly, just as Beth-Anne sidled out of the kitchen, her eyes on her brother, her pale face mulish. She could not bring herself to look at anyone else. Guilt had sunk its claws into her conscience and she writhed in its painful grip.

"Tell them, Bet." Kyle rapped out his order like a drill sergeant and his sister leapt to attention. Gone was her sudden rush of courage. Clearly, that had been a fleeting thing. Gone, too, was the wide-eyed expression that had seemed so charming when Adam first met her. Beth-Anne's overriding instinct, born of self-preservation, was to obey her brother. Adam felt a twinge of pity, and of understanding, as he watched the young girl's hands twist together compulsively.

"Tell 'em what?" she asked, and her tone was sullen. "I wasn't listening."

"Tell them what they already know. What they need to find." He glared at her. "Go on, Bet - tell them about the treasure."

The word sounded ridiculous coming from a grown man, especially someone as cold as Kyle. It belonged in a pirate movie or a child's imaginary game. As a young boy, one dream-filled summer, Adam had spent many secret, filthy hours in the attic of his grandparents' farmhouse, poking through boxes and rattling loose boards - a lonely quest and an empty one, in the end. The only gold shone through the cracks in the walls, bright threads cast off by the distant sun. The only hint of silver gleamed on the webs spun by silent, methodical spiders. The rest was dust and rubbish. There was no such thing as treasure - not really.

But wait...

An echo sounded in his memory of a dark room, days ago, and a quiet conversation. He looked up at Elma uncertainly. Beth-Anne also lifted her eyes to stare at the old lady and, as she spoke, her voice was full of accusation.

"You said it," she announced. "I remember we was lookin' at that photo album of yours, an' you said..." Her face twisted with the effort of pulling the right words from her memory. "You said you lived alone an' never went out 'cause David's ghost came an' told you to guard his treasure." _There_, said her look of triumph, as she finished and folded her arms.

A ghost story. All this - all the trouble and pain of the last few weeks - had spiralled out of control from a simple ghost story? Beth-Anne was naïve, no doubt about it, but surely her brother couldn't believe...

"You see?" Kyle said firmly. "The old man liked to hoard stuff; that's a fact. The money's here, and we intend to find it. It's no good to _her_, after all." He waved the gun carelessly in Elma's direction.

"Beth-Anne," the old woman said in a low voice, and this time Adam knew that it was _his_ Elma, not some fleeting shadow of her younger self that was speaking. Mac held her close and, whether she thought him to be her husband or a stranger, she did not choose to pull away. "Honey, you've made a mistake. There's nothing here but sentimental junk."

"But you said..." the girl protested, casting a frightened eye at her brother.

Kyle shook his head, smiling ever so slightly, a fool who believed that he could not be fooled. "She's lying, you stupid thing."

"No," Elma said, "I'm not. Ask my husband." She turned and appealed to Mac with a confident smile that sliced through Adam like a knife. Lost again...

A tight ball of anger rose up through his chest, gathering the tattered shreds of resolution that were left inside him. Using the wall as a prop, he hauled himself back to his feet and confronted Kyle with a red face and tears standing still in his eyes. "You did this," he told the young man, through clenched teeth, urging him to feel some kind of shame.

Kyle moved closer, until his hot breath was a fog that clouded Adam's brain. His scent was an ever-present nightmare. "So?" he demanded quietly.

"So, _look_ at her. Why drugs, for God's sake? You're not a doctor; you don't know what you're doing. You could've _killed _her." Adam kept his voice low too, directing his comments at Kyle and away from Elma's hearing. Creeping closer, Beth-Anne had picked up every bitter word, however, and now she turned on him indignantly.

"That's not true! It's not like we poisoned her. No one's dead, are they?"

"What did you use?" Mac's probing was casual - disarming, even. He, too, was following the conversation and his level tone brought Adam back to himself, slowly but effectively. His own anger seemed to be under control by now and it was clear that he wanted Adam to adopt the same tactic. _Be careful... Be calm..._ The two men locked eyes briefly before Kyle stepped between them but that tiny moment of reassurance was enough. Adam pressed his lips together, embarrassed by his outburst and determined to show more restraint, like his boss.

If she had seen Kyle's face, Beth-Anne would have known better than to speak again. Tortured by her guilty conscience, she strove to justify her actions, and those of her brother - but he didn't look very grateful. "Grammy's medicine, at first. She left it behind, an' the doctor never said to give it back... so it wasn't stealing, right?" Her eyes grew large. "But it made Elma sick... and I thought that was bad. So I begged Kyle to try somethin' else."

Adam's gut roiled in memory at her words. All at once, he was back in the hospital bathroom after that first visit to Conrad Valens, curled up on the floor with an empty stomach, a bad taste in his mouth and an overwhelming sense of failure._  
_

_Not my fault..._

"Something else?" Mac prompted.

"Beth-Anne," her brother snapped, daring to swing the gun her way. But the young girl was staring at Elma by now, and either failed to notice or simply did not care any more. Elma's expression, in turn, was one of deep concentration, edged with sorrow.

_She knows,_ Adam guessed. And wished that he could be there, right now; inside her head at this moment of stark revelation, helping her to bear it.

"Kyle's a cleaner," Beth-Anne said in a high, sing-song voice. She never broke the connection with Elma, but her confession was meant for Mac. "One of the places he cleans is a pharmacy. At midnight, see, the cameras stop an' start again. That's when he took 'em; a couple each night. Nothin' scary - lots of people use 'em. He promised Elma wouldn't get sick this time. An' you didn't, did you?" the girl added fondly, taking half a step forwards. The gun still followed her. She glanced at it and shook her head as if to say, _how strange._ "Those allergy tablet things. Real strong ones, from behind the counter. I crushed 'em up and put 'em in her food - white for white - but I never stole 'em and I never hurt her. That's good, right? That's okay?"

Once more, she stepped forwards, switching her gaze from Elma to Mac in a wide-eyed appeal for confirmation. Behind her, Kyle's hand swung into the air... and _down,_ as the gun smashed into the back of her head. She gave a tiny, puzzled grunt and then dropped like a stone. Elma screamed and covered her face with her hands, as though trying to block out the image altogether.

"No!" Adam yelled, and moved to help the fallen girl - but Kyle was quicker and so was the gun. All at once, the barrel rammed into the fading bruise on Adam's cheek, with a fierce jolt of pain that rocked through his head to the back of his skull, and out through bone and muscle and skin - the same direct path that a bullet would take. Cross-eyed, he watched Kyle's finger as it hovered on the trigger, right before his eyes. _One little squeeze, _he thought, full of horror. One little squeeze and that would be the last thing he ever saw.

"I knew you were trouble," Kyle whispered into his ear. The cruel words were meant just for him and they made him shiver. "When she told me there was an interfering cop next door - that you were eating Elma's food... I should have killed you right there on the street. Could have, if I wanted - and if that demon girl hadn't attacked me. How's your shoulder...?" he added, pulling back and baring his teeth in a heartless smile.

"None of your business."

Kyle shook his head. "I think I'd like to take another look at my handiwork," he said thoughtfully. "Give us something to do while your boss here puts his cop skills to good use and finds my money. Let me see it."

"What... no!" Adam shuddered. "I don't want to..."

"Leave him alone," Mac said, loosening his grip on Elma and shuffling forwards to the edge of his seat with an effort. "There's no need. I'll do what you're asking - but you have to promise me something in return. No more violence." He gestured to Beth-Anne, who was beginning to show signs of life, much to Adam's relief. She twitched and groaned, but did not open her eyes just yet.

"Fine." The gun pulled away, leaving only an echo of pain and Kyle's ugly, whispered promise: "Later..."

Adam sank back against the wall, but managed to stay on his feet this time. Both he and Kyle watched together as Mac turned to Elma and fixed her with his solemn gaze.

"Can you help us?" he said.

She nodded. "I'll try." Her voice was thready, but full of determination. Adam's heart went out to her. She was his friend, and it was only now that he understood just how much he had come to care for her.

"Thank you." Mac nodded. "I'm sorry - I have to ask; do you know where you are, Elma?"

"Home," she said firmly.

He waited in tactful silence until she continued. "My home - and David's. Not in Wales; not any more. I miss it so much..." she added softly and her eyes grew dull for an instant. Mac let her drift backwards, sensing her need and trusting her to return. Moments later, she did. "New York City," she told him, as if there had never been any doubt in her mind. "My apartment. Such a nice man living next door." Adam flushed at the unexpected compliment, but met her rueful gaze. "I'm afraid I've caused him an awful lot of trouble lately."

"Not your fault," he whispered, shaking his head. Unable to reach him, Elma squeezed Mac's arm instead. The detective winced and caught his breath. When at last he spoke again, his voice was shaky.

"Do you know who _he_ is?" Mac gestured to Kyle with a nod of his head.

Elma's eyes were clear as she stared at the tall young man who was clinging to Mac's gun as though it held the answer to everything. "You're Beth-Anne's brother," she said. "And you've come here to rob me, you silly boy."

Scared as he was, Adam wanted to laugh at the sneering, wounded look on Kyle's face. With three simple words, she had dealt his ego a powerful blow and he struggled to retaliate with equal force. "Crazy old woman," he muttered.

"No doubt," she nodded wisely. "Though some of that's your doing, I gather? Adam, are _you_ alright? I'm so sorry..."

"He's fine," Kyle snapped, and turned to Mac. "Get on with it," he urged. "All this talking is driving me mad."

"He's a rude young man, isn't he?" Elma said to the detective. Lifting her hand from his sleeve, she gasped. "Oh, but you're hurt. David, how did this happen?"

"It's not important now," Mac reassured her. Listening in silence, Adam only hoped that he was right. "Elma, _I _don't want to rob you, and neither does Adam here. But we do need to know -_ is _there money in the apartment? It's important - a matter of life and death."

Elma's brown eyes locked onto Adam. "If I had it," she said, "I would give it away in a heartbeat to keep you safe."

"I know that," he nodded. The words almost choked him. "There's nothing here, is there? No money at all - I was right."

She shrugged. "Ten dollars tucked in a coffee jar, there in the kitchen." She shrugged. "My emergency fund." It was almost a joke, but no one was laughing.

"Ten dollars..." Kyle said slowly. "Ten _dollars_..." Scowling, he sought out Beth-Anne, who had managed to drag herself backwards by now, well away from the rest of the group. Like any wounded creature, she had wormed her way into a tight corner, whimpering softly as she cradled the back of her head with a shaking hand. The blood-stained fingers of her other hand were clamped around her cell phone.

_"911,"_ said a tiny voice, piercing the shocked silence. _"What's your emergency?"_

-xx-

**A/N: *Smuffly runs and hides...***

**More soon - I promise. Thanks for reviewing!**


	24. Chapter 24

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Twenty Four**

_**"Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold." (William Butler Yeats, 'The Second Coming')**_

For a few seconds, Adam basked in the warmth of his absolute relief. _They're coming,_ he thought, as he allowed himself to conjure up a glorious, fleeting image of Flack bursting onto the scene, making everything right.

Then he looked at Kyle and relief became absolute terror. Control was slipping away from the young man like water through an open hand. What lay beneath was a frightened, irrational person with the power to kill.

This was bad. Very bad.

One rash act of violence had severed the bond between siblings. Kyle's face showed that he knew it all too well. Staring up at him, Beth-Anne's eyes were wretched. Adam hated to see her like that, full of pain and confusion - and loss. Her brother had gone. In his place, there was only a strange man standing before her, pointing a gun. Beth-Anne forced her trembling fingers to obey her will as she lifted the phone to her mouth and spoke into it, quite deliberately. Was she daring Kyle to shoot her and be done with it? Or did she think, even now, that he wouldn't be able to do it?

If so, was she right?

"There's an armed man in my apartment. He's tryin' to rob me. My name is Elma..."

Bursting into motion, Kyle lunged towards her like a snake and tried to snatch the phone before she could say any more. Beth-Anne clung to it tightly, squealing in distress. Fear made her strong and they tussled. Adam knew from the start that her efforts were doomed, and he cast a worried glance in the direction of the apartment door. Should he use this opportunity to make a run for it and fetch help? Would that be an act of cowardice, or something Mac himself would do?

Adam took a tiny, hesitant step towards the door, keeping one eye on Kyle and Beth-Anne - but something unexpected held him back; the overwhelming power of his own conscience. It was then that he recognised the truth.

With a crashing sense of certainty, he knew that he would never be able to leave his boss behind - or Elma, for that matter. He glanced back at the couch. As he did so, his eyes grew wide.

Mac was slipping his own cell back in his pocket - and it was active. Catching Adam's eye, he gave a tiny nod of silent confirmation, but the awkward task had jarred his wounds and caused him too much pain, far too quickly. His strength fled, taking his consciousness with it. Tilting sideways, he slumped against Elma, who barely managed to hold him up with her bony shoulder and her thin arms. "David," she cried. "Oh, no!" Adam flinched at the sound and gathered his resolve. In less than a second, he was halfway across the room and reaching for his boss...

... but his hand never got there.

Kyle stood up. Beth-Anne's cell was in one fist, the gun was in the other and his face was triumphant. The young girl was sobbing, her head bent low and her arms hanging loosely in a mournful posture of defeat. With a flourish, Kyle turned off the cell. The brave little notes that it sang as it died were unbearably cheerful. Casting it down, he rounded on Adam, who stumbled to a halt.

"Can they trace it?" Kyle demanded.

Adam pressed his lips together stubbornly. He kept his eyes averted from the couch; unwilling to draw too much attention to his vulnerable boss, who was now in Elma's arms - a strange reversal.

"Tell me or I'll shoot you." The gun rose, aiming across the room. Adam was starting to wonder if Kyle really did have it in him to murder a man in cold blood. He was violent and unpredictable, yes - but there in the corner was Beth-Anne; still alive, even after betraying him. People had killed for less. A dangerous gamble, to base his reaction on such flimsy evidence. Adam was no psychologist, and his own mind was badly scrambled right now. Yet he clung to hope.

"I don't know, okay?" he mumbled, risking a shrug. "Why would I?"

Kyle studied him darkly. There were beads of sweat on the young man's brow, as though the last of his coolness had melted away in the heat of the struggle. His voice was rough when he spoke again. "Liar."

"Takes one to know one." And where did _that _come from, Adam thought, full of dismay at his careless response. Now was not the time to be snappy. Now was the time for intelligence and he fought for it, schooling his haphazard thoughts into some kind of order. "I told you - I'm not a cop. I work in a lab, that's all." He held up his hands in a gesture of peace, just like the good guys did in the movies when they were trying to reason with the crazy, gun-wielding villain. The madman who held all the cards. In the movies, it worked. In real life... Adam shook his head and prayed for a miracle.

Kyle looked shifty. Seeking out the cell, which lay on the floor near the kitchen, he slammed his heel on top of it; once, twice, _three_ times until it was nothing but a sorry pile of scrap. "Well I'm guessin' they can't now," he growled. For good measure, he followed that up by striding across to Elma's landline and yanking the cord from its socket.

"No, they can't," Adam agreed, watching Kyle's paranoia at work and knowing all the while that there was an active cell phone in Mac's pocket. He wondered who could be listening. He hoped that _someone _was. Time to give them a little information... "Look, Kyle, you can't hold us here for ever. Sooner or later, someone's gonna notice that Mac's missing. Like I told you before, he's the Head of the New York Crime Lab. Which means you can't kill him either. You get that, right? It'd be suicide, in the end, and you don't strike me as a suicidal kind of guy. As for me, well, I'm just a lab rat and there's no way I can stop you - not when you're waving Mac's gun in my face. So why not just leave? Mrs Bryce has no money. You made a mistake. Cut your losses and leave... okay?"

"Oh, I'm gonna leave - when I find something worth taking." Kyle cast a glance towards Mac, as though weighing his options. Adam's blood ran cold.

"No! I mean... he's injured. You wouldn't get far..." he whispered. "B-but... you could take me instead."

"You?" Kyle's voice was full of scorn and it cut Adam deeply, in spite of his relief. Too many echoes... "Why would I want _you_? I need money, not a burden. Who'd pay to get _you_ back?"

For a moment, Adam's brain was stunned and could not think straight. Who would pay? Good question. Maybe no one. Maybe someone... He glanced at the man on the couch, wrapped in Elma's thin arms, and he knew. Mac would. So would Stella. Danny, Lindsay, Sid. Even Hawkes - no, _Sheldon_ - and Detective Flack.

His friends.

Adam kept the knowledge to himself but it gave him strength. "So what are you going to do, then?" he asked simply.

"What I came here to do," Kyle said. With his free hand, he reached out and snagged a large cushion from a nearby chair. Then he threw it at Adam, who caught it clumsily. "Cover off. You can ditch the filling." As Adam forced his trembling fingers to obey, Kyle picked up a silver pill pot from the coffee table. "Nice," he said, sneering at Elma. "Good for a start." Tossing the pot to Adam, he gestured for him to drop it into the makeshift cushion-bag. "So, what else have you got here, old lady?" he asked. As if to back his demand with a silent promise, he studied his line of fire, closing one eye and peering along the barrel at Adam's chest. A tear ran down Elma's cheek and she shook her head. Adam swallowed. He couldn't help but wonder which meant more to her - a well-meaning neighbour or the sentimental treasures of her past...

As it turned out, the answer was simple.

"Take what you want," she said breathlessly. "You're right - I don't need it. It's certainly not worth a life." _Your life,_ her brown eyes added, shifting to hold Adam's frightened gaze safely in her own. With Elma before him, and Mac, he could almost - _almost_ - forget about the gun.

"Stay there, then," Kyle demanded. "Don't cry out and don't move. I'll be watching." Then he stepped up and curled his fist tightly in the folds of Adam's shirt. The barrel of the Glock returned to Adam's cheek and he whimpered, unable to stop himself. So much for his hopeful theory. Right now, his death seemed inevitable.

"Wha...?" Mac said, trying to lift his head.

"Hey, no, it's okay," Adam told him quickly. "Stay put, boss. I'm just..."

"We're just browsing. One-stop shopping," Kyle said, yanking him towards Elma's bedroom. Head down and heart pounding, Adam stumbled, yet somehow he managed to keep going. Anything to get this man away from Elma and his boss. As for poor Beth-Anne, Adam tried in vain to catch her eye as he went past, but she was a broken child, unwilling to stir in her corner, or even look up. No hope there.

Kyle stopped in the doorway, master of both rooms, and released his grip on Adam. "You're a smart guy - look around," he said. "Only the good stuff, mind. When the bag's full, you can come out. Check under the bed first," he added. "And the mattress. Just in case..." He shoved him out into the middle of the floor. Adam stood there, clutching the cushion cover to his chest and staring around in confusion.

To go through Elma's personal belongings - to steal from an old lady - felt wrong even at gunpoint. How could he do such a thing? And yet, if he didn't... "It's just stuff," he whispered. "Not worth a life. Mine or theirs..."

"Hurry up," Kyle urged. Clearly, he was still nervous that someone had traced Beth-Anne's call.

_And so you should be,_ Adam thought grimly. A quick search proved beyond all doubt that there was nothing under the mattress or the bed, so he sat down at Elma's dresser and stared at the items in front of him. Facets of her daily life, set out so neatly. He lifted a finger and stroked the back of her hairbrush, which was inlaid with different shades of green enamel, set between twisting gold wires and forming a delicate pattern of knots. _Cloisonné,_ his brain supplied helpfully, ever-alert to random details. Biting his lip, he picked up the brush and dropped it into the cushion-bag, followed by the matching comb and mirror set. The act made him feel like a traitor. Opening her jewellery box, the feeling intensified. Each piece was charming and no doubt significant. Adam took a sharp breath to strengthen his resolve and scooped them all into the bag.

"Box too," Kyle said from the door. He was still watching, then. Adam obeyed. If he could go slowly enough... Maybe help was already on the way.

And if it wasn't?

He pushed the insidious thought to the back of his mind and stood up, moving over to the bookshelf - the very same one that had fallen on Beth-Anne and pinned her to the floor. _I should have known, _he thought ruefully. Elma had been sleeping, due to the drugs, no doubt - and the girl had tried to search the room. For what - a hidden safe? "Serves her right," he muttered, thinking of her sore wrist - until he pictured her as she was now, and felt bad. He knew better than anyone; people were never straightforward. Was Beth-Anne a victim or a villain? He couldn't decide but his kind heart leaned towards compassion.

A picture sat on top of the bookshelf, placed there by his own hands after the accident. The frame was silver. Inside was an old snapshot of Elma with her husband. Both appeared to be in their forties. Strangely, David did look a little like Mac, now Adam came to study him. He flipped open the frame and released the picture, setting it down on the top shelf with care. There was writing on the back in a faded script but he did not choose to read it. Instead, he popped the frame into his bag.

"You're stalling," Kyle hissed.

"No. No, I'm not," Adam reassured him swiftly. Diving across to the closet, he pulled it open and started to rifle through boxes and bags. "Look - there's nothing else here," he told the young man at last. "Just letters and cuttings and cheap souvenirs... all sentimental, like she said. What do you want me to do? I don't understand."

"Ugh. Just give that to me." When Adam edged towards him, Kyle grabbed the cushion cover and propelled his hostage back into the main room. Adam stood and shivered as the young man swept around like a hurricane, snatching up item after item and dropping it into his bag. When it was full, and Elma's weeping was loud enough to irritate him, Kyle moved to the front door and turned to face them all. "It's been a blast," he said. "But I'm leaving now. Thank you for ruining everything. Goodbye."

He raised the gun one more time - and fired.

Adam saw the flash and felt the pull as his body spun - but he could not feel the pain; at least, not for the first few seconds. Already, Mac had dropped from the sofa down to the floor and was crawling closer, fear and dizziness warring on his face. Behind him, Elma tottered, wailing like a child in distress.

_Wait..._

_Why am I on the floor?_ Adam wondered.

As the realisation hit him, so did the blossoming pain, from his left arm right through his chest, racing urgently along a complex pathway of nerves until it hammered on his brain. Adam's ears began to sing and the world turned white. But not before he heard a scuffle in the corridor outside, followed by an exchange that left an unexpected smile on his lips as he drifted away.

"Hey! Let go!" shrieked Kyle.

And then, in Don Flack's blessed, wonderful, sarcastic New York drawl came a wry comment. "Goin' somewhere?"

-xx-

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed this chapter - I'd love to know! Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last one, and also Mahala, who is catching up! I'm still stunned by the number of reviews I've had for this story. It makes me very happy to know that other people like it too, as I'm having such a great time writing it. **

**More soon... **


	25. Chapter 25

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Twenty Five**

_**"The art of medicine consists of keeping the patient in a good mood while nature does the healing." (Voltaire)**_

Voices buzzed around his head like a swarm of angry bees. They seemed to have far too much to say, and Adam pulled back into himself, searching for peace in his dreams. Even so, he could make out snatches now and then. Were they real, he wondered, or brought to life by his imagination? So hard to tell, these days.

_"...my fault, Don. I should have seen it. I __**did**__ see, dammit, and I didn't push hard enough."_

_"Hindsight's a wonderful thing, Stella; you know that."_

_"I do, but clichés aren't going to stop me feeling guilty. Thank God for Mac..." _Her voice was troubled as it died away.

There were other sounds, too. A door slamming. Somewhere beneath him, the pull of an engine. His arm was not his own any more - it belonged to the cold and creepy fingers that touched it with their latex skin - yet he didn't care. They had locked away the pain, like a criminal, safe in the back of his mind, and he was floating...

Warm air, cold air. Warm air again; far too warm, in fact, and stuffy. Loaded with the mingled scents of antiseptic and human beings in distress. Lying flat on his back, he opened his eyes and stared at the bright lights slipping by.

"Hello," said a friendly, disembodied voice behind him. "You're with us, then?"

Was he?

"Mm..." he said thickly, but his lips refused to work properly and his brain was full of cotton wool. What was it he wanted to say? "M..Ma.."

The effort wore him out and he slipped back into the dreamworld. Haylen was there to greet him. Somehow, he wasn't surprised.

_No more darkness, _she told him, smiling her over-bright smile.

Adam looked around. The sense of fear that had dogged him for far too long - the ache inside him that _hurt_ - it was gone; and all around them was... not a landscape, exactly, but an all-pervading sense of cleanness, and freedom.

_Thank you,_ he said, feeling awkward.

_Oh - it wasn't me. You did this. Adam, you won._

Won what? He wasn't sure, but her words made him happy and now, as he sank even further away from the real world, he knew that when he woke at last, all would be well.

-xx-

Except that it wasn't; not really. Waking was stiff and confusing, and _very_ uncomfortable. His left arm was... wrong, somehow and still didn't feel like it really belonged to him. "Nhhh," he groaned. "Haylen...?"

"I knew it," a voice crowed.

"Wha... no... Dan...?"

"Lindsay owes me, big time."

"She's... no!" With an effort, he opened his eyes. They were dry and sore. At last he focussed - and there was Danny Messer, grinning broadly.

"Gotta stop... wakin' up like this..." Adam sighed. "With you..."

"Prefer 'em cute 'n' blonde, do you?" Danny was full of relief, and apparently that made him even louder.

"No." Adam frowned. "Brunette... Danny, wha's goin' on?"

His friend settled back in the wheelchair, his voice softened by the gravity of his reply. "You were shot. You remember that, right?"

"I... yeah..." And he did, in an ugly rush of memory that sent a wave of ice-cold sweat rushing down his back. Looking down, he saw that his arm was strapped up tightly. No wonder it felt so strange. He moved his other hand and felt a curious pinch that turned out to be a cannula. "How long...?"

"Have you been here? Well, they dug the bullet out of your arm this morning. You were lucky, man," his friend said in a heartfelt voice. "Turns out, it lodged against the bone, when it could have ploughed straight through. I'm thinkin' we're gonna be physio buddies real soon, though." He offered a reassuring smile, with a shadow behind it that spoke of shared pain and understanding.

Adam nodded. He was quiet for a moment, as he tried to digest the information.

"Why...?" he said at last, and the meaning behind that one plaintive word was clear.

"I _think_," Danny offered slowly, "it was because you were just so damn annoying."

Adam's eyes grew wide - but his friend was smiling again, and this time it was genuine. "Joke?" he asked in a timid voice.

"Joke," Danny nodded. "Sense of humour still intact, then."

"I guess." There was something... Someone... He needed to ask... "Mac," he blurted out, finally, setting the word free as soon as his muddled brain brought it to the surface.

"Oh, yeah, Mac." Watching him carefully, Danny opted for the truth. "You know how he is - all that combat training. He managed to hold off your crazy knife-wielding friend - protect his core - but his arms are a mess right now and there's a hole in his back that gave the doc a real sour face before she patched it up... He's fine, though; I promise," he added hastily, catching sight of Adam, who was horrorstruck. "Looks like some kinda mummy's uncle, all wrapped in bandages - ask me though, his coat took the brunt of it... Gotta get me the name of his miracle tailor. See for yourself, anyway, if you don't believe me. He'll be here soon. We're changin' shifts at three."

"Shifts?"

"With you. Think we'd leave you alone, Adam Ross? Seems you're not to be trusted..." Danny chuckled. "No tellin' what kind of trouble you'd get into next."

"Ha ha ha." Adam scowled at his friend, but there was no real anger in his expression. Thinking back more carefully through Danny's long-winded explanation, he couldn't help but wonder how on earth Mac had managed to break out of hospital so quickly. Maybe it helped to be the Very Important Boss of the New York Crime Lab. The last time Adam had seen him, Mac had _not _been in a good way, and neither had...

Oh, no.

"What about Elma?" he ventured, warily.

Danny's face closed off. "She's not hurt," he said.

"Okay - and...?" Adam could sense the hesitation, and the words unsaid.

"Well..." Pausing, Danny spun his wheels and moved in even closer. He lowered his voice. "You know about the drugs, right?"

Adam pulled a face. "Sid was... he was the one who guessed it. And... well, I yelled at him, Danny. I need to see him and apologise." He clutched the sheet between his anxious fingers; twisting, twisting...

"Stop that," Danny told him firmly, laying a hand over his and stilling the frantic movement.

"Oh. Okay," Adam whispered, his head low. Staring at his tousled head in disbelief, Danny gave voice to the thought that was troubling him.

"Adam. Tell me you don't think...? You're not to blame here, you know. Not for anything."

So hard to speak. Danny's kind words were like a tiny pebble that started an avalanche inside him. He clung to his friend's hand and shook, and shook. "I kn... I know... But I thought... I was so s-scared, Danny... I thought I was going m-mad. And Elma... I should... I should have helped her..."

"More than you did? I don't see how. Adam, I see my grandmother - what, maybe five times a year? You visited Elma, like, every day. You risked your job, and your health - dammit, even your life - 'cause you cared about some lonely old lady. That's a little crazy, maybe, but I'll tell you somethin' - I'm proud of you, buddy." He frowned. "Look, you've just woken up, okay? You need a nurse... I'm gonna fetch one."

"No! Stay and talk to me, Danny. I don't..." Adam's voice dropped. "I don't like hospitals. And really, I don't need a nurse. I'm not in pain, I promise. Tell me about Elma. Please?"

"Well, she's out of her apartment - and that was a struggle, accordin' to Flack. You'd think they were draggin' her to her doom. Seein' you get shot... that was hard for her too."

Somewhere in the tangle that was currently his mind, Adam heard a distant wail. "I know," he whispered.

"And the drugs... you got dosed maybe once a day? When we tested her food - man, it was everywhere." He shook his head ruefully. "Sugar, flour, milk, cookies..."

"Cake," Adam sighed. _White for white..._ Beth-Anne had been as good as her word. She must have ground up the tablets and laced Elma's whole stock of baking ingredients. Danny nodded.

"Stella asked the doc about you. 'No lasting effects' were his words. Oxycodone was the first drug they used, but they soon ditched that and we only found trace amounts. Turns out, most of what you took were first generation antihistamines, which probably hit you hard 'cause you were already run down. You gotta learn to pace yourself, buddy. Elma, now - she's older. Much older. Takin' stuff like that... it can knock you sideways. Aggravate conditions that are already there, not to mention creatin' a whole mess o' new ones. She's downstairs, okay - you can see her later, when you're feelin' up to it. But I'm tellin' you now, so you don't get a shock; she's lost. Inside her head, you know? Kept callin' for her husband... I'm guessin' he passed away, right?"

"Mac," Adam said. "She thought Mac was her husband." He clenched his one good fist, and Danny's hand pulled away. "Where's Kyle?"

"Somewhere cosy where the sun don't shine," said a familiar voice outside the door - and the next minute, Don Flack's face came into view. "Awake at last, Sleepin' Beauty? Don't _tell _me Messer had to kiss you..." His blue eyes were bright and his smirk was comical, but Adam could hear the fatigue behind his words that spoke of a sleepless night - and worry.

The figure behind him, as he entered, was a big surprise.

"Boss!" With a hoarse exclamation, Adam tried to sit up straight, but his wound made him clumsy and he slid back down in a rumpled heap. Danny chuckled, and Flack moved to help him. Mac stood behind them, one hand on the back of Danny's chair. His face was whiter than white, but that wasn't the most shocking thing. Nor were the bandages currently gracing his arms.

He was still in a hospital gown.

Flack caught the direction of Adam's stunned gaze and laughed outright. "Not so easy, this time," he commented, raising one eyebrow. "Jailbreaks are kinda frowned upon when you're a human pincushion."

"Which puts us firmly in the same boat," Mac said to Adam and his eyes, though tired, were smiling.

"Mm-hmm," Adam mumbled, suddenly shy.

Danny saw his confusion and leapt in smartly. "Well, that's me," he said. "Babysittin' over. At least this shift didn't involve any diapers..."

Flack's eyes were loaded with sympathy. "Lindsay got you well trained, then?"

"Oh, yeah..." The reply was uttered in a heartfelt groan, as Danny wheeled towards the door, leaving Mac standing all by himself in the middle of the room, swaying ever so slightly and trying to hide it. Flack grabbed a chair and set it next to Adam's bed. Then he glared at the pale-faced detective.

"Sit."

To Adam's abiding delight, Mac obeyed. Flack gave a subtle wink - and his efforts were rewarded by the slow smile which lit Adam's face like a sunbeam through a cloud.

"Now," Flack continued, "I got questions - and I'm guessin' you do too."

Adam nodded absently, his wondering eyes still fixed upon his boss.

"Adam," Mac said, hovering on the edge of patience. "I'm alive, I'm here and I'm wearing a hospital gown. Try and get used to it, before your head explodes."

"Okay..."

Flack waved a hand in front of Adam's face. "Yo. Ross."

"Oh... sorry." Adam flushed and gave the detective his full attention. "Um - what do you need to ask me?"

With a piercing glance that suggested he was weighing Adam's current mental state, Flack proceeded. "I got most of the story from Mac - includin' the truth about the last few weeks," he said tactfully, "but there's a point... I guess you know what I'm talkin' about... when I'm left with a doozy of a cliffhanger. It won't be easy, Adam, but I want you to tell me what happened next. In your own time," he added softly. "Think you can do that?"

"Yes." If Mac could do it, Adam thought, then so could he. The details were hazy in his mind at first, but the more he chased after them, the clearer they became. His tale was hesitant, but truthful. Quietly, he took them back to the scene and ran through the whole shocking series of events, from the sight of Mac pocketing his phone, to that dizzy, miraculous moment when Flack arrived at the door. His colleagues listened without interrupting.

"That tallies with everything I overheard," Flack nodded, when Adam had finished. He gave a rueful grin. "Thought it might be an ass-dial till I really began to listen. That guy Kyle's a dangerous fool, and no mistake. You did well," he added.

"Getting shot wasn't part of my cunning plan," Adam admitted.

"Shot in the arm? Don't take this wrong, okay, but that's nothin'. He could have killed you..."

"Or me," Mac put in. "In fact, the way I remember it, he was about to - before you stopped him, Adam."

Embarrassed beyond all reason, Adam took refuge in his old friend, humour. "Does that mean I finally get a raise?" he ventured.

Mac's reply was deadpan. "No. But I promise not to yell at you, for at least a fortnight."

"Oh! I'll take it," Adam told him fervently.

"Okay," Flack said. "Your turn. Ask me anythin'."

That was quite some question. Adam could feel himself growing weary again, and he knew that, very soon, he would have to find a way to extricate himself from this conversation - but there were so many things that he wanted to understand. A face rose to the surface, and he whispered her name: "Beth-Anne". Mac studied him carefully. Meanwhile, it was Flack who answered, just as he had promised.

"I'm sorry," he said. "She's part of it, Adam, no matter how naïve she seems to be. We had to arrest her - though right now she's here in the hospital too. Busy night for them," he sighed, as an afterthought. "But she's helpin' us, and that should work in her favour. Whatever kind of sway her brother had - well, it's gone now, an' that's a good thing."

"She tried to save us, in the end," Adam protested. "Please let me speak for her... you know... in court..."

"That's up to her brief - but I'll see what I can do."

Sliding a little further down the bed, Adam tried to keep his eyes open. Mac gave a not-so-subtle cough.

"No more talking," he said. "Let him rest, Don. Plenty of time for questions later."

Flack's nod was full of understanding. Adam sighed with relief, feeling touched by his boss's display of concern - but it seemed that the grinning, blue-eyed detective couldn't resist the last word after all.

"Okay. You can sleep, Ross. I just got one more question for now, if you don't mind? Somethin' that's been buggin' me."

Adam waited.

"It's about those cookies..." Flack said.

-xx-

**A/N: So, the end is on its way - but we're not quite there yet! I'm planning at least two more chapters, to round things off properly. Hope you enjoyed this update, and thank you to all my reviewers :D**


	26. Chapter 26

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Twenty Six**

_**"As soon as healing takes place, go out and heal somebody else." (Maya Angelou)**_

Clearly, Adam thought, the universe itself had grown sick of his weary state and was conspiring with all of his friends and a whole flotilla of nurses to keep him in bed. For three whole days he lay there, drifting in and out of a series of drug-induced dreams. At least they were prescribed drugs this time, which meant that when he broke free of yet another random tour of his imagination, he could tell the difference at last, and knew that none of it was real.

His waking hours, on the other hand, were mind-numbingly dull. There were only so many times you could count the tiles on the ceiling, or eavesdrop 'accidentally' on other people's conversations, just to keep from going stir-crazy. Visitors brought him to life - and thankfully, they were frequent. Danny came so often that Adam began to wonder how he was managing to get any work done. Mac turned up once a day, even though he had made his own escape from the hospital by now. Flack reappeared with a wicked smile and a bag full of cookies. Stella brought grapes and a sympathetic ear. Lindsay brought Lucy and, ten minutes later, there were at least five nurses hovering nearby and cooing with delight. The proud mother caught Adam's eye and winked but he could tell that, deep down, she was loving it. Besides, Lucy's cuteness factor was undeniable. He watched her, fascinated by her level gaze and her total lack of concern for the fuss all around her. Cool kid.

Sid only came once, but once was enough. As soon as the M.E. appeared, Adam's well-planned speech fell apart and became nothing more than a useless jumble of words. "I'm so sorry; I lost your handkerchief," was all he could manage. After that, he simply stared at Sid, and his candid eyes spoke instead; a mute apology that was far more eloquent. Sid nodded - and that was the end of the matter. Another weight slid from Adam's shoulders and he gave a grin that was pure Ross; warm and delighted. From that point on, Sid proved himself to be a highly entertaining visitor. For once, he managed to steer clear of the macabre and, by the time he left, his 'patient' had developed a newfound respect for the old cliché that laughter was the best medicine.

Sheldon's visit was a different matter. The smile was there, but the sparkle was slow to follow. Adam knew that this was his fault. He also knew that Sheldon didn't blame him - not for anything. Still, conversation was difficult and they tiptoed carefully around each other, sticking to safe topics. It wasn't cowardice that held them back, or even pride. The scene in the alley was just too raw. Both men sensed that there would be time to mend their relationship later - and, when that time came, the shift would be quick and easy; a burst of humour or a shared task, carried out in friendly silence.

After Sheldon left him, Adam felt drained. He lay on his back for a long time, staring at the ceiling. Maybe the drugs and the tiredness had caused his paranoia but he couldn't deny that the tendency had always been there, and that was something he needed to think about.

When he looked down again, Mac was standing beside his bed.

"You're far too good at that," Adam said. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to know that you need to leave this room. You've been stuck here alone with your thoughts, and that's not healthy."

"They won't let me out." He knew that his voice sounded petulant, but he also knew that his boss would understand. "How did _you_ do it?"

"With charm and good manners," Mac told him.

"I have those..."

"Of course you do." The phrase was correct, but Mac's eyes were full of amusement.

"You're teasing me," Adam accused him. "Okay then - if you're so good at this, can't you go and convince them that I need a change of scene? Or, you know, that I ought to stretch my legs? There's something I _really_ need to do, Mac. Please..." The request had started out as a joke but, as he continued, his tone became urgent. His legs were already halfway out of bed. "Will you help me?"

"I will," Mac said.

Which was how, fifteen minutes later, he found himself standing alone in front of Elma's door, in a whole new part of the hospital. The ward looked the same, and smelled the same, but there was a very different feel to it. Warmer, somehow, and more personal - yet with a strange sense of time suspended, like a breath being held before a plunge into deep dark water. He wished that he hadn't been quite so adamant about doing this all by himself. Shyly, he pulled the dressing gown tighter in order to hide his sling, and peered through the glass. As he did so, a nurse passed by behind him.

"Going in, sugar?" she asked. "No cause to be nervous, now. She's a quiet one - gentle enough if you treat her right. Don't open those blinds though, that's my advice. Maybe you know that? Your gran'ma, is she?"

Adam turned to face her. _Charm and good manners... _"My friend," he replied.

The nurse was round and jolly, with a mass of dark curls that fought to be free of her bright yellow scrunchie. She studied him, full of concern. "You okay?" she asked. "This your first visit? Want me to go in there with you? I'm not bein' rude, but you look a little shaky."

He saw that her offer was kindly meant, and suddenly felt much stronger. "No. Thank you."

"Sure thing, sweetness." The nurse went on her way and Adam raised his good hand to open the door, edging through quickly before it flew back and smacked him in the face.

Why was he so nervous, anyway? This was Elma, not his father...

Yet, when she turned to inspect her visitor, Adam saw at once that she didn't know him at all. He barely knew _her_, in fact; this pale thin figure with no hope and no animation in her eyes. The room was equally dull. Elma had turned out the main light and hidden the view, as though she were afraid of it - which she probably was, Adam realised. One little lamp shone bravely from her cheap, institutional bedside table. There were no cards, no flowers... no sign that anyone loved her at all. She sat in a low chair beside her bed and, when she had looked at him once, she shifted her gaze away and let it rest on the picture that hung on the opposite wall - a mountain scene in watery strokes, painted in a naïve style that was somehow appealing.

"Elma," he said, and his throat was dry. "It's Adam."

Did she even hear him? He couldn't say for certain. Her face was rapt as she stared at the grey and the green strokes; a pale reminder of her past life. Adam stepped forward and sat on the bed, waiting quietly. After a while, he began to study the picture as well. There were sheep on the low hills, grazing in front of a tiny white cottage.

Suddenly, he sensed that something in the room had changed. Her eyes had left the landscape and he knew that she was watching him. Keeping perfectly still, he tried to look unconcerned. The first move had been his and he had failed. The second move ought to be hers.

"You're hurt," she said.

"I was. But I'm much better now."

"What happened?"

Now he did turn to face her. Could she handle the truth? Should he make something up? Adam hated lying, so he opted for a middle path and kept his eyes upon her as he spoke. "I was helping a friend in trouble. You, Elma. You're my friend, okay?" He paused.

"Then you live in the village? I haven't seen you around - have I?"

"Yes," he said patiently. "I live next door."

_There_ it was, just for a moment - a fleeting look of recognition in her eyes that she shut down at once with an iron will because she did not _want _to remember any more. Fear had driven her deep inside herself, farther in than she had ever been before. The room was no longer her prison. Elma was trapped in her own mind. Adam clenched his jaw and wondered whether it was even possible to rescue her.

Elma's dark gaze slid back to the painting. He sat with her in silence for a while. When he finally left, she pretended not to notice.

-xx-

He could have called it quits, of course. Abandoned their friendship. Respected Elma's apparent wish to be alone. But Adam was stubborn, and very few people in his life, apart from his colleagues at the lab, had treated him with the same unerring kindness that she had shown.

Searching for Mac, he found him in the visitors' waiting room. There was a harried young mother in there as well, with three boys, the smallest of whom was currently leaning on Mac's leg, frowning with solemn concentration as the Head of the New York Crime Lab read him a tale about bunnies.

Adam paused in the doorway. The scene was enchanting and he was afraid to break the spell. He was also out of breath after walking so far, and he leaned on the wooden jamb, listening to the gruff voice of his boss. Mac knew he was there - even sent him a wry glance - but finished the story and then tried to prise the small boy from his leg.

"Riley. Here," his mother said with a hopeless lack of conviction.

"No," Riley whined. "Want more."

"Go back to your mother now," Mac told him firmly - and Riley obeyed.

"Thank you, sir," said the woman, her arms outstretched for the boy to fall into. She loved him, that was clear; and Adam smiled to see it.

Mac, meanwhile, had risen. "Come with me," he offered. Reaching Adam's side, he studied him carefully. "Need a chair?" he added.

Bravado was one thing. Collapsing in front of your boss through sheer exhaustion was quite another. "Yes, please," Adam said. "Will you be able to push it, though?" he added, trying not to stare too hard at Mac's bandages, which peeped from beneath his shirt sleeves and made his arms seem bulky.

"Leave that to me," was Mac's mysterious reply. "Sit down over there - I'll be back."

Adam did as he was told. Dropping onto Mac's old seat, he found himself to be the main attraction for three pairs of bright blue eyes.

"He your daddy?" the oldest boy said.

"Um... no."

"My daddy's sick," the middle boy chimed in.

"Oh... I'm sorry."

"Are _you_ sick?" the child persisted.

"Sick, sick, sick..." sang Riley. He grinned at Adam from his mother's knee. "Story?" he asked brightly.

"Um..." Already, Adam was starting to feel as helpless as the young woman looked. Luckily, that was the moment when Mac chose to reappear.

"This way," he said, and waved Adam into a wheelchair that was being pushed by a smiling gentleman with pepper-and-salt hair, whose name-tag proclaimed that he was Hormoz, hospital porter.

Full of gratitude, Adam sank down onto the chair and left the waiting room, with its lively occupants, in fine style. "Where are we going?"

"You need fresh air. I'm taking you out to the garden."

"There's a _garden_?"

As it turned out, there really was, and it was strangely peaceful. Volunteers in green sweatshirts pottered around, pruning here, weeding there. Trees lined the walls, curving inwards to create the welcome illusion of a dappled, sunlit grove. The constant sound of traffic was so muted by the leaves that it could almost be mistaken for the wind, or a tumbling stream. On rustic benches, people sat in twos and threes, their heads leaning inwards, just like the trees.

Hormoz wheeled Adam to the last free bench and left the two men there together, with a promise that he would return in half an hour.

Sitting down, Mac turned to Adam.

"Tell me," he said.

Adam stared at the criss-cross pattern of branches overhead, and the trembling leaves, as he tried to transform his thoughts into words. "Not good," he admitted finally. "Danny had it right - she's lost, Mac, and I don't know how to save her."

"_Can_ she be saved?" Mac's question seemed harsh on the surface but when Adam turned and saw his expression, it was challenging, not bleak.

"I think... if I found the right key, you know? She might not be the same - I know that. But it's not just the drugs, or her age. She's hiding, and she won't come out until she knows it's safe."

"You've been there," Mac said, and this time it wasn't a question. He had seen it for himself.

"Not like that; not as bad. But the look in her eye - for a moment, I knew it, okay? I can reach her. I _have_ to..."

They sat together for a while in silence, feeling the green breath of healing that was the garden's generous gift.

"Can I ask you something?" Adam said at last. "It's kind of personal..."

"In this place," Mac said, "you can ask me anything."

"Okay." Once more, he took a few moments to phrase his awkward thought correctly. "It's just that... when we were talking - you know, the other night - well, you said something and I wondered..."

"Go on," Mac told him quietly, with unusual patience, as though he had already guessed what was coming.

Adam dropped his voice, and his troubled gaze. "I said I felt like my mind was breaking. D-do you remember? And you said..." He shook his head, frightened by the fact that he was about to ask such a bold, intrusive question. "And you said you knew what that was like. How...?"

"How do I know?"

"Yes," Adam whispered. "Sorry, boss. You don't have to answer. I shouldn't have..."

"No," Mac told him. "It's only fair. I asked you a lot of hard questions that night. Personal ones; and you never flinched, not really." Now it was his turn to look away, just for a moment. "Claire. When Claire died..."

"Oh." With one word, Adam showed the depth of his understanding. No need to say any more. Their eyes met again, and they nodded.

"My turn," Mac offered, in a not-so-subtle attempt to change the subject. "Something you said that night bothered me too. Something you glossed over, Adam, about your childhood..."

He had long suspected that Mac knew the bare bones of his past. The _buried_ bones, and he worked hard to keep them that way; to keep his two lives separate. Yet his own words had a frequent knack of betraying him. Frowning, he tried to think back. What had he said...?

As if he could read Adam's mind, Mac continued. "The way you've been feeling these past few weeks... you said you'd felt that way before."

"Oh!" Relief filled him. That one was easy to answer. "Yes - and now I understand why. Antihistamines, boss. I had real bad hayfever as a kid, but the medicine made me ten times worse. My dad told my mom I was just being lazy, you know? Trying to skip school, pretending I was ill. Then I passed out in gym class..." He slowed for a moment, and halted. When he continued, his face was flushed. "The other kids laughed... The school nurse didn't, though. I ended up in hospital... I've never taken antihistamines again; not since that day - not ever." Full of embarrassment, he shook his head. "Guess I should have known, right?"

"What - that your next-door neighbour's home help had laced her food with allergy tablets in order to steal a fortune that never existed in the first place? Oh yes, shame on you, Adam, for not seeing _that_ straight away."

He laughed. He couldn't help it. Mac's poker-face was admirable.

"My mom sat and read to me every day, when I was in the hospital," Adam continued softly. "Treasure Island... I've loved it ever since... oh!"

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. It's just... Mac, I know what to do. About Elma, I mean. Would you... could you help me?"

Hormoz approached them across the dappled lawn in an awkward zig-zag dance that was half-brisk, half-dawdling; anxious to show that he was here if they needed him - yet, at the same time, reluctant to interrupt too soon. Mac stood up and waved him over.

"Of course I will, Adam. Just tell me what you need me to do."

-xx-

The next day, Adam was dressed and ready to leave the hospital, thanks to Mac working his charms on the lab tech's own consultant. Before he left, however, he paid a second visit to Elma's room. In his free hand was a small bag, also courtesy of his boss.

"Come in," Elma told him when he knocked. He entered with a smile, made hopeful by her greeting - but old habits simply die hard and, once again, she turned away when she saw that he was no one.

"I've brought you some things from your apartment," he said.

Elma stared to the left of him. It was unsettling.

Adam placed the bag upon the bed and pulled out a little bowl, filled with cinnamon potpourri. Moving round, he placed it on her bedside table. "That's much better already," he murmured, as though to himself. From the corner of his eye, he could just see Elma sniff the air. Her head turned towards him, ever so slightly.

The next thing he pulled from the bag was a book.

"You know," he said, skimming through the pages, "I never took much notice of poetry before. But the other night - well, I enjoyed myself, okay? You gave me that. So I'm giving it back to you." Finding the poem that he wanted, he sat down on the edge of the bed. In her chair, Elma's body was tense. Her eyes were closed and she held her breath; waiting...

Adam began to read.

_"Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs  
__About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,  
__The night above the dingle starry,  
__Time let me hail and climb  
__Golden in the heydays of his eyes..."_

The words flowed between them, carried by his gentle voice and so full of passionate feeling that he could almost have wept with the ache of it. When he reached the end he let the last few lines linger on his tongue, reluctant to part with them completely...

_"Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,  
__Time held me green and dying  
__Though I sang in my chains like the sea."_

The poem faded away like a distant echo. Adam lifted his eyes from the page and stared at Elma. There was a tear on her cheek, and the ghost of a smile on her lips.

"Thank you, Adam," she said. "That was lovely."

-xx-

**A/N: One more chapter to go before this tale is over...**

**The poem, as before, is "Fern Hill" by the Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas.**


	27. Chapter 27

**OUT THERE**

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

_**"You were sick, but now you're well again, and there's work to do." (Kurt Vonnegut, 'Timequake')**_

The lobby was grim; a dusty limbo with a single, flickering light and a _very_ unappealing odour. _Beer and old socks,_ Adam decided, darting towards the elevator quickly, just as he always did. Thinking back, he couldn't believe how many months had passed since the last time he ran through here, or smelled that dreadful smell.

Kevin's apartment was on the fourth floor. Once, in a fit of boredom, the two friends had Googled the ugly old building, to find out if it had any kind of exciting historical past - a little glitz to repel the gloom. What they actually found were records of a migrant sweatshop, renowned for its poor conditions. "Figures," Kevin had joked. "Nothing changes, right?"

Rising up in the rickety car, Adam closed his eyes and rehearsed his speech one more time. His left arm itched and he curled his right hand tightly, resisting the powerful urge to rip off his dressing and scratch and scratch, like a dog with fleas.

Ugh - fleas. He stared down at the mouldy square of carpet, full of suspicion. Fed by his own imagination, the itch grew worse. _Stop that,_ he told it firmly.

The fourth floor corridor wasn't much better. Adam's own place seemed like a five star hotel in comparison. Kevin's door, like all the other doors, was a sickly olive green and his number hung upside down, so that 6 became 9.

Adam mustered his courage and raised his right fist. With a sharp knock, he announced his presence.

From two doors down came a string of colourful expletives. Maybe it _was _kind of early, he realised, backing away, his hand still hovering up in the air. Kevin wasn't much of a morning person... not that his friend was the one he had really come to see...

Adam spun on his heel and began to sneak away. If he had owned a tail, it would have been between his legs by now.

A lock snapped open behind him, followed by the squeal of rusty hinges.

"Leaving so soon?" said a wry voice.

"Oh!" He halted. "I'm sorry. I thought that eight o'clock..."

"Might not be the most sociable time to come calling after all?" Jade finished for him.

Adam turned back and stared at her nervously. Clad in an old hockey top and striped pajama bottoms, with her hair in two wonky braids and her face devoid of make-up, the young woman looked surprisingly plain - yet he liked her better that way.

"Yeah," he said with a grin. "Kevin sleeping?"

"Like a baby. No, make that a baby pig. You ever heard him snore?" She studied Adam closely. "You look like crap."

"Thanks a lot."

"You also look better. Than before, I mean." Peering into his eyes, she smiled. "Go on, then."

He frowned in confusion. "'Go on'... what?"

"Go on - say what you've come here to say." She folded her arms and regarded him archly, waiting.

"Oh, that." He shrugged. No need for a flowery speech after all. As it had been with Sid in the hospital, so it was here. Jade could read him like a book, it seemed. "I'm sorry," he said, and his blue eyes held the rest of his apology. _Sorry for judging you. Sorry for thinking that you were the one who mugged me. Sorry for being a jerk..._

"So you should be."

That floored him, until she burst out laughing, earning a few more choice expletives - some of them in Spanish - from the apartment two doors down. "Come in," she whispered, mildly repentant. "Have some coffee. We could wake Kevin and show him what morning looks like..."

"No - I can't," he said, sincerely regretful. "I have to go to work. First day back, you know?"

"First day back after what?" She stared at his sling and then held up her hand. "No; it's okay. You don't have to tell me. I've already pried into your life far too much, Adam Ross. Meaning I'm sorry too," she added, far too impatient to wait for his brain to catch up with her twisted explanation.

"Okay..." He nodded and held out his good hand. Jade took it and shook it.

"I'm off home tomorrow," she said. "Guess you could call it an eventful trip. Got myself arrested _and_ released. Foiled a mugging. Made a friend?" Her voice rose in a hopeful query. Adam nodded, and she smiled. "Okay, then. Well, if you're ever in Boston, look me up. You can stalk me back, okay?"

"Sounds like fun," he agreed, and they parted with the ease of two casual friends who knew full well that they would never meet again, but who left their relationship wide open and on the best of terms at last.

-xx-

"Alright?" Stella asked him, as he slipped into the seat beside her.

"Alright," he agreed, as she started the engine. "Thanks for waiting."

"It was the least I could do," she said quietly.

Joining the busy stream of traffic, they headed towards Manhattan, and the crime lab. Adam closed his eyes and listened to the flow of noise around him. The city was full of life this morning and all of it was joyful. Work was before him; bright new challenges and faithful friends. Even Haylen seemed less of a threat. She no longer haunted him, but the echo of Dream-Haylen lingered, and he gave a determined smile as he recalled his foolishness.

No more paranoia.

Well - at least he'd try.

As Adam shifted in the passenger seat, his shoulder gave a slight twinge. He thought of the eye still carved there. Skin grafts were an option, just as Stella had suggested - but these days, he was far more inclined to leave the mark exactly as it was. Kyle's intention, his sister admitted to Flack, had been to scare Adam silly - to make him think that people were watching him, everywhere he went. To fill him so full of fear and paranoia that he would shrink into his own world and never come out, leaving them to finish their business with Elma unhindered. Well, Kyle had almost succeeded; that much was true. But Adam had done a whole lot of thinking lately - not all of it bad - and now, to him, the eye meant something else as well; something Kyle had never considered and probably couldn't begin to understand.

The only people watching Adam were his friends.

And they had saved his life.

-xx-

**A/N: ****To all those people who read, followed and favourited this story - I can't thank you enough and I hope you enjoyed the last chapter. To my kind reviewers - your thoughtful comments and your words of encouragement helped to make the whole thing so much better and I had the best time writing it!**

**Thanks to lily moonlight, for her good advice.  
****And special thanks to 1917farmgirl, without whom this story wouldn't have existed in the first place...**

**Over the next few weeks, I'll be working through the challenge one-shots that I signed up for. And then, a little something special for the festive season... involving Adam, of course!**


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